


The Life We Live

by the_dangerous_ginger



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Angst and Fluff and Smut, BAMF Jensen, BAMF Misha, Based on a Tumblr Post, Buddy Cop Romance, M/M, Narcotics Detectives, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-03-21 17:03:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 33,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3700184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_dangerous_ginger/pseuds/the_dangerous_ginger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've been partners nearly five years now, always dancing around their feelings, so oblivious of the other that it's laughable. Is it possible that their comradory could turn into something more? When the past comes back to haunt them, their partnership and feelings will be pushed to their absolute limit.</p><p>To think it all started with a damn name plate...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This was based off the Buddy Cop Romance post on Tumblr. It ended up being more of a detective!au than a cop!au, mostly because the 'prompt', so to speak, was a little broad. So here is the first chapter.
> 
> My tumblr: the-dangerous-ginger.tumblr.com/  
> Beta tumblr: rieraclaelin.tumblr.com/  
> **New writing tumblr: the-brain-and-the-machine.tumblr.com/  
> Prompt source: viscouslover.tumblr.com/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was based off the Buddy Cop Romance post on Tumblr. It ended up being more of a detective!au than a cop!au, mostly because the 'prompt', so to speak, was a little broad. So here is the first chapter.
> 
> My tumblr: the-dangerous-ginger.tumblr.com/  
> Beta tumblr: rieraclaelin.tumblr.com/  
> Prompt source: viscouslover.tumblr.com/

Always a man of punctuality, Detective Collins strolled through the doors of the L.A. police precinct at 7:15am on the dot.

The station was quiet this time of the morning, mostly because people didn't start really filing in until closer to eight o'clock, and the idiots that roamed the streets of L.A. didn't normally start causing trouble this early either. _Normally._

Which was fantastic, and it meant he had more time to fill out paperwork before he fell behind. It also meant he had time to brace himself before having to deal with the Adonis that was his partner and best friend.

Jensen Ross Ackles sauntered into the precinct almost five years ago now, a transfer from Texas, and assumed the role of Misha’s partner, after the last one quit to be with his family. They made an excellent duo, their ‘good cop/bad cop’ routine damn near perfect most days. Jensen played the ever stoic hardass, with cold eyes and an even colder voice, using the scare tactic to his advantage. While Misha, on the other hand played up the more sympathetic role, with his big, innocent, ‘doe eyes’, as Jensen called them.

 _‘You woo them with those baby blues and before they know it, they’re spilling everything they know and then some.’_ He’d told Misha.

Jensen held the perfect amount of charm, sharp wit, and tantalizingly smoky accent and managed to absolutely wreck Misha’s carefully constructed self-control.

He casually made his way to the Narcotics division of the precinct, waving at the few people who were there along the way, his head filled with visions of green eyes, freckles, and adorable bowlegs; only to stop short when he passed through the glass door, heart sticking in his throat when he found he wasn't the first to show up like normal.

His partner, Jensen, sat with his booted feet propped up on his desk across from Misha's; fiddling with the name plate that read  _D. Krushnic_ that usually was on the corner of his desk.

"I thought you requested for this to be changed?" He inquired off-handily, running a thumb over the engraved letters.

Playing off his sudden nervousness, Misha merely raised an eyebrow.

"I did. You've seen how well they like to listen. You're here exceptionally early." He remarked in quiet surprise as he reached to take his name plate from his partner's hands, swatting at them when Jensen tried to reach for it again. Their hands collided for a mere fraction of a second, but long enough for Misha’s breath to hitch and electricity to shoot through his veins. One again, he played off the heat rising in cheeks and placed the name plate back in its rightful place.

He received a green eyed, plush lipped fake pout and a shrug in return.

"What, I can't show up early and keep my partner company for once? Seriously, isn't a little lonely here this early in the morning?"

Misha just grunted at him and shrugged out of his leather jacket, draping it across the back of his desk chair before searching for the latest case files; trying to ignore the main reason he had to run an extra mile each morning before work. That reason was also close enough he could smell the distinctive scent of what he secretly called "Ackles musk".

"Well ain't that some shit." Jensen commented across from him.

He glanced up from his searching, meeting a pair of twinkling green eyes. 

"What?"

His partner chuckled and lost his own denim jacket, then pointed to his shirt.

"We almost match."

He spared a glance down and noted that, indeed, they did almost match, with their black button ups and jeans. The only real difference being that his jeans were black as well instead of grey.

Not sure what to make of the strange coincidence, he simply chuckled and said, "I guess it's a good thing we aren't going to prom then, huh? That would be a  _disaster_." 

He got a hearty laugh from that.

“I look better in it than you do, so it wouldn’t matter anyway.” Jensen told him with a coy smile and a wink.

Misha had to sit down after that.

* * *

 

_'Why does he have to be so damn beautiful?'_

Jensen tried his best to focus on the paperwork in front of him, but with Misha no more than ten feet away sitting on the edge of his desk, it was a little difficult. His hand still tingled from the second of contact they’d made earlier.

Misha, though, seemed blissfully unaware as he thumbed through a case file.

So maybe he’s been harboring an embarrassing crush on his partner, but could anyone really blame him though? With Mish’s impressive athletic stature, impossibly blue eyes, and twisted sense of humor, he, unknowingly, won the hearts of many, including Jensen.

What was really distracting him were his partner’s legs.

For almost five years now, Jensen broke out in a cold sweat and had to shift to accommodate the tightness in his jeans, and all because of Misha’s stupid legs. Well more like just Misha, period, but still.

The muscle bulged and threatened to rip the black denim surrounding them, and looked _absolutely mouthwatering._ He really wanted nothing more than to be able to reach out and squeeze, just to see what the muscle would feel like under his hand, maybe see if the dark mop of hair on top of his head felt as soft as it looked, if his hands were as deft doing other things as they were when he wielded a gun or drove…

_'Dammit stop that. No hard-ons in the office genius.'_

Unfortunately, he couldn’t do any of those.

His partner seemed completely oblivious to how attractive he was and how many times he’d been the star of Jensen’s more risqué dreams, as well as Jensen’s subtle flirting.

Their relationship up until this point had been nothing more than best friends and work buddies. He was also pretty sure he had a thing for the pretty secretary on the second floor named Vicki.

His best friend Jared teased him relentlessly over the few times he’d been caught staring over at his dark haired friend; which, in turn, Jensen retaliated against and gave him hell about his new girlfriend Genevieve. He’d argued that Jensen Ross Ackles most definitely _did not_ pine after people, least of all his partner,  but had ultimately caved and agreed that there was an attraction toward the man.

Of course, he’d also made his mountain of a friend swear he’d never say a word about it and Jared had complied surprisingly easy.

Jared had always been extremely understanding, he’d helped him through his breakup with Danneel, and was supportive when he’d told him about Misha. He also thought Jensen was an idiot because he still hadn’t said anything to his partner, and often reminded him of such.

Sighing inwardly, he tried to focus on the papers on his desk.

It was going to be a long day.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K  
> Beta: rieraclaelin

_For fuck’s sake._

They had been working this case for three weeks now, and right now he was grateful he ran every morning and kept in shape. He was also glad he’d ditched his jacket earlier in the truck.

His feet pounded the pavement as he willed his legs to propel him further. Despite the adrenaline rushing through his veins, his breathing remained steady and even. Blood rushed in his ears and made his head throb but he pressed on further.

Jensen was running somewhere behind him calling the 10-80 (chase in progress) in, but he paid no mind. His focus was directly on the tattered grey hoodie running away from him.

The kid couldn’t have been more than 23 years old, and looked like he was about to shit himself when he looked back to see a 5’11”, dark haired man charging after him.

The distance between them was quickly diminishing.

“L.A.P.D.! Stop and put your hands where I can see them! Don’t make me shoot you, kid!” He bellowed after the boy.

Of course, his command was ignored.

_'Dammit.'_

When the distance between them was small enough, he leapt, throwing his body into the boy at full force.

_‘This is gonna hurt.’_

Both men were sent crashing to the ground, their bodies colliding painfully with hot pavement. Distantly, Misha thought he heard a loud,  _pop!_ , come from his elbow, and his ribs protest, but it was ultimately ignored.

A flash of silver metal and his runaway was safely detained, face smashed into the ground, and spitting out dirt.

While he read the kid his rights, Jensen caught up to them and radioed in that the suspect had been apprehended.

“Why? Why do they always run?” Misha ground out, dragging the kid to his feet and pushing him towards his partner.

“They know it’s your job to chase them, so they’re kind enough to make sure you get your exercise in.” Jensen grinned at him, looking completely unruffled by the whole ordeal.

Misha took great pleasure in giving him the middle finger.

 ~~~

Two hours and another bout of paperwork later, Misha stood inside the interrogation room, watching the interaction in front of him quietly, and rubbed his elbow absently. It hurt, as did his ribs, but there were more important things to attend to at the moment.

The kid he chased down earlier, Adrian Denton, still had the same terrified look plastered on his face from earlier, especially with his partner grilling him from across the small table.

“I will ask you again,  _Mr. Denton_ , who is your boss and where can we find him?” Jensen asked him tightly.

“My answer remains the same,  _Detective_. If I could tell you, I would, but as I previously stated, I like my skull without a bullet in it.” Adrian abandoned the terrified look and sneered back.

He could feel his parnter’s frustration increase by the second, and took the chance to intervene. God knew he didn’t need Jensen’s temper flaring right now.

“You do realize you can be charged for this, right? As well as resisting arrest?” Misha told him gently, despite being perturbed with the fact he had to chase him earlier that day.

“Yeah, I do. That still doesn’t change my mind.” Adrian’s tone rang with finality. The kid had obviously seen a lot of things he shouldn’t have, and as much as this case needed to end, Misha could understand.

Not only was this kid protecting himself, but from his file, he was protecting a mother and brother at home as well. The case could wait until he was sure that he could get this boy and his family protection.

With a sigh, Misha pushed off from the wall and clapped his partner on the shoulder, silently telling him that this one would have to wait.

* * *

 

Jensen was pretty sure Misha was inadvertently trying to take the cabinet door off its hinges by the looks of the sheer amount of force he was using against it. Not that he could really blame him, this case was starting to get to him as well.

“Easy, Mish. I know this case-” He stopped mid-sentence and finally took note of his partner’s right side.

“What the hell happened?” He asked, taking Misha’s arm and examining the nasty road rash, then turning to lift the hem of his shirt.

Dark, angry purple bruises spiraled across Misha’s ribcage and lower back. They looked painful, and Jensen was fairly positive that it probably hurt to breathe as well.

He was completely unaware that Misha had gone very still under his touch.

“Mish, why didn’t you say something earlier?” He asked softly, running a thumb gently over the exposed flesh.

His friend shuddered, then pulled away, and tugged his shirt back down.

“It seemed irrelevant.”

 _“Irrelevant?”_  Jensen scoffed and left the break room, leaving Misha to trail silently behind him.

He sat Misha down in his desk chair and set to rummaging through the bottom desk drawer.

(Insert the inevitable Mish staring at J’s ass here.)

When he found the first aid kit, he stood straight again, and took his partner’s arm gently. Using extreme caution, he cleaned the affected area, wincing and giving a sympathetic smile at Misha’s hiss.

After he made sure the wound was thoroughly cleaned, he applied some salve, and wrapped it.

“You gonna kiss it and make it better, too?” Misha teased.

With careful deliberation, Jensen gave him a serious stare and placed a swift whisper of a kiss on the point of Misha’s elbow. He watched in fascination as color rose high in his friend’s cheeks, and for a brief moment the world narrowed between them.

The moment, however, shattered quickly when a door further down the hallway slammed, both of them jumping apart.

In the next instant, he was alone, Misha muttering something about coffee on his way out.

Jensen sat heavily in his chair.

_‘What. Just. Happened?’_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caring!Jensen is my favortie to write so far. As always leave me feedback!  
> ~K


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nsfw content lies ahead!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was pretty fun to write. Enjoy!  
> ~K
> 
> Beta: rieraclaelin

“ _Dude! You are so whipped.”_  Jared teased him in between laughing fits through the phone.

“I’m not  _whipped_. See, this is why I should never tell you anything.” Jensen grumbled at him, returning to his spot on the couch, beer in hand.

 _“Aw, don’t be like that. You’d be lost without me.”_  His giant friend told him easily, sobering a little.

Truth be told, he wasn’t wrong. He'd been a mess all afternoon, but talking to his energetic best friend had helped. It wasn't the first time he'd called him like this, and he doubted it would be the last.

_“Have you talked to him since?”_

He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face, “No. He disappeared off on some mission to get the kid we caught and his family protection. He was pretty upset before… you know. I think I made it worse.”

_“He was upset? I know this case has gone on longer than what anyone wanted, but any idea why this one is bothering him so much?”_

“Not a clue. I tried to ask, but got distracted.”

_“Right. Well, try to talk to him tomorrow.”_

"Yeah, let's get off that subject. How's Gen?"

It was also really easy to distract his friend as well. 

_"Beautiful as ever man. You know, I've been thinking..."_

He trailed off for a moment.

_"I think I'm going to marry her."_

"Really? That's great! She'd make a good wife, and you'd make a decent husband, I suppose." He teased, trying to get back at him for earlier.

_"Hah, yeah I'd try. So, will you be my best man?"_

A smile broke out across Jensen's face, "Of course I will man."

They talked for a little while longer until he heard a muffled voice in the background,  _“I gotta go, Gen’s here, but let me know tomorrow, okay?”_

He agreed and they said their goodbyes, along with a promise to get together that weekend.

For the remainder of that night he nursed a beer and watched mindless TV, dozing off midway through some B rated horror flick….

 

_He found himself watching the scene from earlier replay, only with a different twist._

_He watched the interaction between Misha and himself go down, in an almost voyeuristic manner. Everything the exact same until they reached the point where he’d placed the kiss of his partner’s elbow._

_Something between them was different then._

_Fascinated, he studied the way Misha’s eyes darkened, the color rising in his cheeks again, and how his breathing seemed to speed up._

_Everything moved in slow motion._

_His hand traveled up the curve of Misha’s arm, up his shoulder and neck, before finally tangling in the mess of dark hair._

_The first touch of lips was slow and easy, a test._   _After the shock wore off, the line of tension between them snapped, and a sort of frantic fervor settled between them. Quickly, the kiss turned hungrier, more carnal._

 _Hands pressed them closer, their bodies molding together as if they were made for each other._   _Soon he found himself being pressed against the edge of his desk, and a rush of new found excitement pulsed through him._

_Was he about to be-._

 

The dream ended abruptly by the high pitched fake scream coming from the TV.

Jensen groaned in outright frustration when he stole a glance towards his pants. Just as he suspected, his dick was straining against the heavy denim, and aching. Setting his now warm beer on the coffee table, he got up and headed for the bathroom, losing clothes on the way.

When he reached the shower, he turned the water as hot as he could possibly stand it and stepped inside.

He wrapped a loose fist around his cock and pumped quickly. It didn’t take much to set him off. Not with the dream still fresh on his mind and images of blue eyes to accompany him.

He came with a hoarse cry, sagging against the shower wall.

_‘I’m so fucked.’_

* * *

 

The bar was relatively quiet when he and Vicki arrived. A drink with his best friend is what he needed right now.

Vicki Vantoch, the quirky secretary from the police department had been his friend ever since they first collided with each other.

She’d had her head down looking through a stack of papers, cup of coffee in hand when she turned the corner, and managed to run straight into him. Hot coffee and papers went everywhere and all over him.

She’d apologized profusely and they’d been friends ever since.

It was a weird beginning but their friendship worked.

Now with a beer in his hand and a gin and tonic in hers, they chatted quietly.

“So, what’s going on with you? You’ve been… off all day.” She asked him.

“Jensen.”

The one word instantly had her tuning in more intently and a look of worry crossed over her delicate features.

“Oh Mish. What happened?”

He told her about the day’s events, starting with the chase and ending with the incident at Jensen’s desk.

“I froze up. It was a simple joke and I was a breath away from taking it too far, but Vic, I swear, the way he looked at me after that… I could have sworn he wanted it, too.”

She patted his hand sympathetically, “Talk to him about it. Don’t you think it’s time?”

Vicki had known about his attraction towards Jensen even before he did, and had been on his ass about it ever since.

“What if he is appalled about it? What would happen to our partnership?” He downed the remainder of his beer in hopes of quelling the fear of the prospect of ruining their friendship.

She smoothed a hand over her pencil skirt and tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. It was something she did when she was faced with a predicament and had no good answer for it.

“You won’t know until you try, now will you?” She told him with a small smile.

No, he wouldn’t.

_‘But is it worth it?’_

He signaled the bartender and ordered another beer.

~~~

That night, his dreams were plagued with bright green eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief flash of smut is good for the soul! Don't worry, there will be more!
> 
> I also wanted to include Danneel and Vicki somewhere so I couln't be accused of forgetting or dismissing them. So now, we have best friend Vicki and ex girlfriend Danneel. As always, leave me feedback!  
> ~K


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to take this in a direction I didn't start out with, but I hope you guys will like it. Enjoy!  
> ~K
> 
> Beta: rieraclaelin

He’d woken up that morning with a calm sense of attitude, content on showing up at work, telling his partner exactly what he thought, and going from there.

That calm confidence had vanished the moment he’d pulled his truck into the precinct parking lot at 7 o’ clock.

“Don’t-panic-don’t-panic-don’t-panic…” Jensen muttered to himself, sparing the occasional glance at the clock. Occasional being every ten seconds.

_‘Mish, about yesterday… No, no, no! Misha, look man, I really like you and- Dammit that’s worse! Fuckfuckfuck…’_

His thoughts raced a million miles a second, a hundred different ways to tell his partner, and he couldn’t even choose  _one._

He glanced at the clock, again.

_7:21am._

“Where is he?” He asked no one in particular. Misha was never late,  _ever._  It was a borderline obsession of his, one that Jensen had teased him about before.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Misha’s number, only to reach his voicemail immediately.

_“This is Detective Collins of the L.A.P.D. I’m currently unable to take your call. Please leave your name, phone number, and a brief message, and I will contact you as soon as possible. If this is urgent please contact my partner Detective Ackles or the L.A.P.D.”_

Now, he was starting to feel tendrils of uneasiness unravel in his stomach.

What if something happened?

_‘No. Don’t even go there. He’s a grown man more than capable of taking care of himself.’_

Minutes passed and still no sign of his partner. The more time that passed, the more anxious he became.

_‘Tea. He likes tea and he’ll probably be in a bad mood because he’s late.”_

With that in mind, he went to the break room and dug through the corner cabinet where Misha hid his stash of teabags. He mechanically prepared the drink exactly as he had seen Misha do it hundreds of times before.

After letting it steep and removing the teabag from the water, he added in a single spoonful of sugar and stirred. Deciding it would be weird to just make his partner something and nothing for himself, he poured a cup of coffee and fixed it to his liking.

Having stalled as long as he could, he returned to his desk.

Misha still wasn’t there.

~~~

Utterly filthy and completely unhappy, Misha pushed his way through the Narcotics division door at 8:36am, jacket in hand.

His grey t-shirt and jeans were covered in grime, but even with dirt streaked across his face, hands an interesting black color, and hair sticking up in a hundred different directions, he was still breathtaking. Maybe even a little more so than usual.

A mix of relief and anger coursed through him, “Where have you been?” he all but demanded.

Misha stared at him, as if he was completely bewildered as to why his partner was so worried.

“The truck broke down on the way here?” His answer seemed more like a question as he tossed his jacket into his chair.

“Your truck…,” he trailed off. “You could have called me. I would have come and gotten you. I actually tried to call you earlier, but it went straight to voicemail.”

He watched as his partner pulled his phone out of his back pocket, and curse at it, toss it on the desk, and run a frustrated hand through his hair.

“It’s dead. Can anything else go wrong this morning?”

As if on cue, Jensen’s cell immediately began ringing.

That’s when the hell truly began.

* * *

 

The first thing to hit him when they arrived, was _the smell,_ dry and putrid.

They stopped at the edge of the police tape and showed their badges to the officer, then proceeded into what looked to be an abandoned warehouse.

Once inside, the smell became stronger, and the occasional gag and cough were the only sounds that filled the air.

Only, Misha didn’t gag or cough. He knew that smell all too well.

Memories, long since repressed, came rushing to the surface as they weaved their way through the rows of towering shelves filled with miscellaneous junk.

He stifled a gasp when he and Jensen reached the center of the scene.

A young woman, pale and still, lay in a pool of her own blood, underneath a single spot of light, directly focused on her. Her blonde hair fanned out behind her head, and her pose looked like she’d simply fallen from grace.

It was almost poetic, the way everything centered around her and her alone.

Tied to her right ankle was a tag.

 _‘Please, no._ ’

On the tag, written in blue were the initials _R.M._

A strangled noise escaped his throat.

He didn’t remember bolting back to the truck, Jensen calling after him, but he suddenly found himself cowering by the tailgate, gasping and heaving, even though nothing would come up.

He was vaguely aware that he was being put back into the truck and that the vehicle was moving, but couldn’t tear himself away from his own thoughts to process it completely.

Soon he was inside an apartment, being sat down on a couch, and was given a cool glass of water to sip on.

_‘It’s Jensen’s apartment.’_

The thought drifted vaguely around his mind, never really settling within comprehension’s reach.

Jensen’s face came into view, worry etched his beautiful features.

It pained him that someone so gorgeous was scared and worried, and it was his fault.

Jensen was saying something but he couldn’t hear him, not really.

He was drowning in the memories he never wanted to experience again.

Then, suddenly, the world came back to him in sharp, crisp clarity, his new anchor being the two hands on his shoulders, shaking him back to reality. The eyes that had plagued his dreams were now his lifeline and the overwhelming urgency to tell them his deepest secrets was smothering him.

“…Mish? Misha, buddy, please say something.” 

“Jensen?” he croaked, throat dry despite the water in his hand.

Relief, for the second time today, clouded over his partner’s features.

“Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay? Can you tell me what’s going on?”

Jensen spoke in low soothing tones, but the underlying worry was still present.

For a second, he considered how it must be for his friend. As if his ever punctual partner not showing up on time wasn’t enough, then having said partner lose his cool and run from a scene when this was _definitely_ not the first time they’d seen a body must have had him spinning his wheels in confusion.

_‘I need to tell him.’_

So he did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silly old me forgot to add my notes so here they are. (Along with my poor attempt to be funny.)
> 
> Suspsenseful Mish is suspenseful, panicky Jensen is panicky, and feels (maybe?) are on the way.  
> As always, leave me feedback! I really love talking to you guys. (What? I get lonely.)  
> ~K


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **PLEASE READ IF YOU ARE PRONE TO TRIGGERS.**
> 
> Warnings: past child abuse, kidnap, neglect, physical abuse, horrible living conditions, PTSD, etc. (Please, please, please, if these are triggers for you, skip this chapter! I'll be sure to write it so that option is available to the best of my ability.)
> 
> I created a different background for Misha in this story, so you know the whole spill about this being fiction and is solely for entertainment purposes. We're all (mostly) mature enough to realize this, I hope, but for my sanity I put the disclaimer in there. Enough of my rambling. Enjoy!
> 
> ~K  
> Beta: rieraclaelin

“There are some things you need to know about me, before this case goes any further.” He told Jensen, rubbing his hands on his thighs.

Jensen nodded and leaned forward, gesturing for him to go on.

His heart beat rapidly and he could feel the beginnings of sweat form around his temples.

“Do you know why I changed my name?”

The question hung heavily in the air for a few moments, suspended on the tension.

“I never questioned it. It wasn’t my place to, out of respect for you, you know?” Jensen answered him a bit gruffly. “Why?”

Misha sighed and looked down at his hands, picking at a hangnail on his right ring finger.

“Just trying to find a place to start.”

He felt Jensen leave for a moment, but he didn’t mind. He needed a second to articulate his thoughts into something that would make sense.

His partner returned with two rocks glasses and a bottle of whiskey in hand, pouring a glass for each of them.

“I figure it’s going to be one of those conversations where a beer just ain’t gonna cut it.”

Nodding in agreement, he accepted the glass and sipped the amber colored liquid inside, savoring the warmth from it.

He began with a little backstory before delving into it head on.

“I’m originally from Russia. I’ve never met my father, but I have the assumption that he’s most likely dead. My mother, brother, sister, and I lived in a poor no name community for many years, and scraped by as best we could. We attended school like normal kids and everything.”

 “There was a man that went by the name of Siyan Mendev, he was generally well known around the communities where we lived. He was a tyrant in every sense of the word and terrified people. His main occupation was to train young boys into becoming soldiers for his own private militia. The scouts that worked for him would go from town to town, hand selecting two or three at most, about twenty-five total. They picked ones that wouldn’t really be missed for more than a few days, then forgotten like the others before them. It was a cruel and harsh way of living, but we had no choice. You either accepted or faced down the barrel of a gun.”

He ran a thumb over the curve of his glass, once again trying to articulate his thoughts, the next part of his story was hard to tell.

“My brother Sasha and I had been playing in the front yard when they took us.”

He swallowed hard when he heard Jensen’s sharp intake of breath but couldn’t meet his eyes. He didn’t want to see the pity, the horror, in their green depths.

He just started spilling words at an alarming rate, the past rearing its ugly head.

“When you arrived, they took everything off of you, hosed you down, and tossed you a pair of shorts.”

“The program they put boys through normally lasted about a year. A year inside a compound that might have been an old high school. No windows, few doors, and no clocks. No way to tell time. The place had no heating and you slept on the floor with whatever thread bare blanket they might have given you.”

“We worked by a system of bells. Looking back on it, I suppose we started at about five in the morning, with laps around the gym. The number varied from day to day, with as little as twenty to so many you’d lose count. For every time you stopped it was five lashings, and an extra lap. They accumulated if you weren’t careful.”

“Then, they fed us. A bowl of oatmeal and a carton of milk that was rancid most of time. If you didn’t run, you didn’t eat. Simple as that. If they caught you trying to give food to someone else, you didn’t eat that day or the next and received ten more lashings.”

“Sometime after that we were separated off into groups. One group would go back to the gym and do whatever fighting style they wanted us to practice that was set up for that day, while the other went to the forum. The days we went to the forum were the worst. They pitted us against each other, and it was all or nothing every time. You stepped up to each other and it was a fight to the death, until they pulled you apart. If they even did that.”

“Day after day, that’s how the routine was.”

“After being there for so long, you begin to lose your sense of morality and it all becomes about self-preservation. That’s what they wanted I suppose, to turn us into killers, with no conscience.”

“Most boys died of exhaustion within the first few weeks, and more died from starvation or infection from their injuries. The few that did survive, ten at the most, were the best of the best, and were shipped off to go join Mendev’s militia after their year was up.”

“I’m guessing it’d been about ten months or so when Sasha and I escaped. It was a fluke really, the guard hadn’t been paying attention just enough for us to get the drop on him.”

He stopped for a second, and looked at his partner for the first time since starting his story. Jensen’s expression was closed off, and mostly unreadable.

“Jensen,” he started again voice breaking, “I don’t know if I killed that man, but he was awfully still when I let go of him.”

“We ran for days, literally, avoiding the main roads, sneaking through fields, until we reached a town miles away from the compound. It took us a week and a half to get back to our mother. Then, we fled the country with what little money we had.”

“I was too young to change my name, so we flew under the radar in the States for a long time, moving from place to place, attending public schools for a few months then moving on. We spent many nights homeless and hungry.”

“Sasha took it harder than I did, suffered worse PTSD, and it wasn’t too long after my seventeenth birthday when he acquired a gun, and ate a bullet, because of it.”

He scrubbed his eyes and willed the tears that came up over that day away, and finished his story quickly.

“When I turned eighteen I changed my name, got my GED, and joined the police force. Now the rest is history.”

They sat in silence for a long time, before Jensen asked quietly, voice laden with some unknown emotion.

“Did they leave scars?”

He didn’t answer him. Instead, he downed the remains of his whiskey and stood up.

* * *

 

Jensen managed to stifle his gasp of outright horror when his partner turned his back to him and pulled off his shirt.

Dozens upon dozens of angry, jagged scars lined Misha’s back, crisscrossing each other from one shoulder blade to the other. The muscle rippled under the angry scar tissue, and made the lines come alive almost.

He’d felt horrified over the story of his childhood, but now he was angry. He wanted the heads of every single one of the people that had a part in his partner’s torment.

Suddenly things began to click.

“That’s why you’re so obsessive about time, why you didn’t really seem all that affected by the fall you took yesterday, and why you can run miles on end without breaking a sweat. Isn’t it?”

Tugging his shirt back on and turning back around, Misha nodded, face grim.

“Yes.” He sat down again.

“Jensen, you have to understand, no one knows this about me. They just think I’m an immigrant from way back when. That’s why we have to act like we know nothing when Mendev’s son, Rozanov, name comes up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit, I like writing dark, emotional content, but that was draining to write. I wanted to give it a base for the rest of the story to go from. This is not at all what I first planned for it to be, so you guys will have to let me know what you think. I may end up scrapping this chapter and writing an alternate, happier one. Let me know what you think!  
> ~K


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!  
> ~K
> 
> Beta: rieraclaelin

Name: Mendev, Rozanov S.

Birthdate: May 3rd, 1976

Sex: Male

Race: White

Eyes: Brown

Hair: Blonde

Height: 5’11”

Weight: 178lbs

Identifying Characteristics: Scar above left eye

Last Known Location: Moscow, Russia

Date and Time of LKL: December 12th, 2012 @ 9:18PM

 

Thunder rumbled overhead as Jensen read the file that Misha had handed him again for the fourth time, trying to commit every detail to memory.

He wasn’t sure why Misha had the file with him, but it didn’t really matter.

They had little to nothing to go off of, but his partner was almost certain that this was their man. He also believed that this man was the reason for the sudden influx of drug cases in and around L.A.

So, not one to doubt Misha’s intelligence, he’d indulged him and told him that they’d look into to it, then promptly sent the haggard looking man to bed in the guest room of his apartment.

That was almost four hours ago.

The clock above the television read 4:07am, and, yet, here he was, _wide ass awake._

Snippets of the horrific story floated around his head, but he couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to hurt his partner.

Misha was always kind, even if he was wronged. He stood up for others, including Jensen once, when he’d first transferred to California.

Absently, he thought about that day and how it had most likely been the exact moment he developed feelings toward Misha.

_The man saved lives._

So, why would anyone ever do this to him?

Shaking his head, he focused on the file one last time. Halfway through reading it, he heard something.

It was quiet at first, a subtle change in the silent night air. The storm outside had quieted just enough that he could catch the end of the noise.

He set the file down and stood up, waiting to see if he’d imagined the sound.

He didn’t.

A soft, unintelligible groan emanated from the guest room a few feet down the hall, drawing him closer as it got louder.

Silently, he crept down the hallway, stopping just outside the guest room door.

Easing the door open further, Jensen peeked inside the dark room, breath catching in his throat.

Misha’s body dominated the small twin bed. One leg partially hung off the side, while his hands clenched tightly in the sheets. A thin sheen of sweat covered him from head to toe, and his face was twisted into an expression of agony.

He groaned again, a broken, sad sound from the back of his throat.

Carefully, Jensen inched across the length of the room, eyes glued to the man sleeping in his guest room bed. He reached out and flicked on the bedside lamp, waiting for Misha to wake from whatever was haunting him.

When he didn’t, Jensen paused and considered his options.

He could just turn around, leave, and hope he woke up on his own; or, he could try to wake him up. The second option was a little more dangerous, considering he didn’t know how violent Misha might get if yanked directly out of nightmare, but he’d be damned if he let him suffer anymore.

So, gently, he took hold of Misha’s arms, just in case he lashed out, and shook him lightly. In return, he got a pitiful moan.

“Mish? Buddy, I need you to wake up. Come on, now”

He shook a little harder. Another groan, louder than before, was the response. Jensen was starting to panic.

Misha jerked in his hold.

“Misha, wake up dammit, you’re going to hurt yourself.” He ground out a little louder.

Misha shot up ramrod straight, gasping, and almost knocking Jensen off the edge of the bed.

He watched, fascinated, as blue eyes sprang open, cloud of the nightmare still looming in them.

His grip on Misha’s arms had become tighter when he’d shot up, the muscles under his fingers were tense and jumpy, and his breath now came out just a little harsher.

They were incredibly close, a few inches from each other’s lips, and even though the urge to close that distance was strong, he resisted for his friend’s sake.

The terror from the nightmare slowly receded from his partner’s eyes and his breathing eased to a steadier rate, much to Jensen’s relief.

Bodies still fairly close, and breaths mingling together, the air in the room changed, like before at the precinct. It was tense, and the world narrowed between the two of them once again.

They sat there for a few moments, watching every passing flicker of emotion raptly.

Jensen wanted so badly to reach out and cradle his partner’s face, smooth away the lines of tension and worry, and ultimately let him know that he was safe. He wanted him to know that he would never, ever, let any harm come to him.

_Why not now? Nothing to lose, right?_

Courage bubbled in him for a brief moment, and he raised his right hand, intent on doing just that, but slow enough to give Misha the chance to back away.

Blue eyes tracked his movement, with no hint of repulsion in them, so he continued his ascent.

His hand came to rest gently on Misha’s cheek, the rough scratch of stubble and cool, damp skin under his palm. He could feel the muscle of Misha’s jaw tense when he clenched his jaw and pushed his head into Jensen’s hand, closing his eyes and nuzzling softly.

Jensen didn’t know how long they sat like this, with thunder rumbling above them and rain pelting the windows, but it was peaceful.

The first rays of sunlight were just peeking through the curtains when they finally parted.

It seemed to convey something between the two men.

Maybe they weren’t alone in their attraction to each other after all.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make my return, and with gifts! Have another chapter as an apology for taking so long.  
> Like this one? Let me know!  
> ~K


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!  
> ~K
> 
> Beta: rieraclaelin

The cool morning air was a refreshing pleasantry as he made his way around the block again. Sunlight splashed against the damp pavement, drying the places that hadn’t puddled fairly quickly.

Jensen’s touch had kept him from spiraling into a panic attack this morning but he’d left at dawn.

He’d hoped that leaving Jensen’s place for a bit and going on his morning run would help but flashes of the nightmare still lingered, making him falter in cadence every so often.  
He could still smell the rancid air of the compound clear as day, feel the lashings across his back, and hear the low mournful cries of the boys trapped there with him. He could still remember the gunshot that had sent him sprinting past his mother and into his brother’s bedroom, only to be seconds too late. Clutching at a lifeless body and a remnant of what their lives used to be fading away forever.

The newest image of the young woman’s lifeless body had him halting on the sidewalk. Misha had desperately hoped that the past would have stayed where it was supposed to, but no such luck.

Innocents dying at another Mendev’s hand filled him with a silent fury. A fury that he would make sure fueled him through the rest of the case.

With his new found resolve, he started his run again, making his way back to Jensen’s apartment.

When he approached the front steps he took a minute to appreciate the beauty of the place, wondering why he’d never bothered to before.

It was an older building, made of red-brown bricks instead of the new, sleeker steel and glass ones. The door was made of thick oak with silver plated numbers, and was smooth to the touch under his hand when he opened it.

The door opened into a short hallway, the stairs to the second floor directly in front, and another hallway leading to the guest room he’d slept in last night, a bathroom he’d made use of this morning, and a small utility room where his clothes were being washed. To his left was an archway leading into the kitchen and dining room where the mouthwatering scent of something undoubtedly unhealthy wafted to his nose and to his right the living room he’d poured his heart out in the night before.

 The inside of the apartment was a little more modern and had touches of Jensen threaded throughout it. A few pictures of family and friends he’d left behind in Texas littered the walls in a few places, mostly in the hallway to the guest room, while a few knick-knacks hung sporadically wherever Jensen seemed fit.

Misha diverted his attention from analyzing the apartment to investigate the source of that amazing smell.

What he found had him swallowing hard and fighting a flush in his cheeks.

Jensen stood in front of the stove, in a white t-shirt and boxers, humming quietly to himself as he checked the underside of the omelette in his pan.  

“This is almost ready. There is hot water on the table in the kettle for tea, or juice in the fridge if you want, I ran out of coffee yesterday.” Jensen commented offhand, never turning around, but effectively drawing Misha out of his trance.

He murmured his thanks and sat down at the small dining table, fixing his tea and watching his partner move about the kitchen.

Jensen moved with a practiced ease through the blur of mahogany and chrome that was his kitchen, seemingly at ease even in his state of undress. A state that had Misha almost burning himself with the water when he caught a glimpse of freckled skin when Jensen reached for something in one of the high cabinets above the stove.

He refocused himself on making his tea, studiously keeping his eyes on the bag he was removing when he heard the stove click off and bare feet shuffle across the floor.

A plate with a hot omelette was set in front of him with a quiet, “Bon appetit” and a fork was placed beside it.

He flicked his gaze to the man sitting across from him, and received an encouraging grin that sent his cheeks blazing again.

_Why am I suddenly so damn nervous?_

Shaking it away, he picked up his fork and dug in, giving a small moan of approval when flavors burst across his tongue.

“Not too shabby, right?” Jensen teased across from him.

Misha merely hummed in approval and kept eating, catching the way green eyes lit up when he made noises from it.

_Interesting…_

_~~~_

He’d missed it earlier.

The dark circles and tired roughness in his partner’s voice, but now with noon almost upon them it was obvious.

He felt a pang of guilt because he’d been the one that had kept Jensen up last night, worried about him to the point he didn’t sleep.

Now, his partner sat dozing, with his neck at a surely uncomfortable angle, in his desk chair letting out the occasional soft snore. He looked peaceful, his eyelashes like dark charcoal smudges across his cheeks and lips parted just slightly.

Misha didn’t have the heart to wake him when the Mendev files slid across his desk, so he sat silently, reading the details of a file he had memorized already, over and over again.

His anger from that morning surfaced once again, but he couldn’t let his expression give it away. It was extremely tiring, and, unfortunately, necessary.

Around two o’ clock, green eyes blinked their sleep away lazily across from him, and he watched as Jensen stretched and yawned, cracking and popping the stiff joints and bones.

Jensen gave him a sleepy grin, “Sorry I passed out on you. Anything new?”

He waved off the apology and rose from his chair, crossing the short distance and tossing the files on his partner’s desk.

“So, that’s a no. Good news is, you were right, this seems to be our guy.” Jensen remarked grimly when he thumbed through the file.

Leaning one hip against the desk, he let out a dry, humorless laugh.

“Yeah, I’m thrilled.”

They chatted for a while about the case and what they could do as of yet, which was, frustratingly, not much. They’d been quiet for a few minutes when an idea sparked in Misha’s head.

“Let me make you dinner tonight, as a… as a thank you.” He told Jensen quickly.

Much to his surprise he got a stuttered, “Well, s-sure. Cool.”

And so his plan was set for the evening. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? I told you it wasn't over yet! Thank you so very, very much for your patience.  
> Let me know what you think!  
> ~K


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy  
> ~K
> 
> Beta: rieraclaelin

He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had put this much effort into making an impression, especially when he didn’t know what to even label their ‘dinner’.

Danneel. Danneel was the last time he had actually tried, but even then, he wasn’t this nervous. They’d been partners for nearly five years, and had seen each other covered in dirt, grime, blood, and sometimes drugs, but he wanted tonight to be different.

The face staring back at him in the mirror was not the same one he saw every morning.

 _Not even close_.

No, this man in the reflection had artfully tussled hair, green eyes ablaze with excitement, a slight five o’ clock shadow and an almost glow about him. The salmon colored button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and black jeans he’d donned made him look casual but with a bit of class.

Or at least he hoped it did.

Before he let his nerves eat him up, he grabbed his keys off the table and headed out into the afternoon light. He pulled on his sunglasses when he got in the truck and checked the time on the dash. Misha had told him to be there at seven so he had about twenty minutes.

The drive to his partner’s house served as a catalyst to his nerves and he tried to tap out the rhythm to the nameless rock song on playing softly through the truck’s speakers to soothe it.

With two minutes to spare, he pulled into the short driveway to Misha’s house and cut the engine.

Misha’s house reminded him, somewhat, of his own apartment with the homey brick inlay instead of clean cut steel.

He climbed out of his vehicle and approached the steps almost hesitantly, heart tripping in his chest.

_Easy. You’re going to pass out in his front yard at this rate._

Just as he was reaching out to press the doorbell, the door was swinging open, and he was met with a bright eyed, messy haired, Misha. The smile that broke out across his partner’s face was more than enough to settle the butterflies in his stomach. He'd changed into a blue pinstriped shirt and jeans, too.

“Come in, dinner will be ready in ten.”

Then, he was left alone on the doorstep, door still open, to watch Misha’s back disappear into the house.

The similarities between his apartment and the house were intriguing. Misha’s place was a complete open floor plan, with the kitchen to the left and the small stepdown to the living room to his right. There was also a staircase resting in the far left corner, presumably leading to the second floor. 

The color scheme was all neutral greys and navy blues, and was overall clean and almost... impersonable. There were no hints of his partner anywhere in the house, leaving it to look more like it had just come off the glossy pages of a magazine.

RealIzation hit him like a ton of bricks.

_He distances himself in his own home._

The thought saddened him and a flash of the previous night's story had him glancing away from his surrondings, and pacing towards one of the high backed bar stools at the breakfast bar.

The contrast between the man in front of him and his surroundings had him reeling. Misha was enigmatic and personable and all around wonderful, but his home screamed cold, clear, and clinical.

Attempting to distract himself from his own thoughts, he took a seat and watched the man across from him, finaly taking note of the music softy playing throughout the house

How he'd missed it earlier, he didn't know.

Misha worked with the same air of confidence in the kitchen as he did the workplace, using the knife he had in hand with skill and precision. Jensen swallowed hard when his downstairs brain caught sight of how carefully Misha's fingers were wrapped around the hande, his head deciding if it couldn't torture him one way, it would just find another. He watched with a sort of fond amusement as Misha swayed genty to the beat of an old fifties tune.

"Dinner smells good." He commented casually upon inhaling the savory aroma around them.

'Well," his partner began, clicking off the gas on the stovetop, "I hope you're hungry, because it's chicken and mushrooms in a Marsala wine sauce."

He punctuated his sentence by sliding a plate of said food in front of Jensen, and turning to grab two wine glasses.

Dinner was, simply put, amazing. The food paired with a cool, crisp white wine, and easy conversation made the two men relax a little more around each other.

Now, lounging on Misha's navy blue couch with the wine bottle on the coffee table between them, glasses abandoned, the touches came easier and the laughs a little more geniune.

They'd both been quiet for a few minutes, listening to the music that still played, and trading the bottle back and forth, the wine loosening them up but nowhere near drunk.

"So, while you were napping earlier I looked at the autopsy report on our vic." Misha paused long enough to take a swig from the botte before continuing on, voice a little harder than before, completely missing how the guilt crossed Jensen's face.

He'd felt terrible about that, especially since the case meant so much to his partner.

"I'd been wondering why Narcotics had been called to an apparent homocide case. Turns out, she had 8mg of heroin in her system, and Forensics says that it hadn't been long after she shot up when she died."

He nodded thoughtfully and stood up, mentally walking himself through the scene.

"How long do they estimate it was before she died?" He questioned contemplatively. 

"Ten, fifteen minutes max."

"Official cause of death?"

"Single knife entry wound in the back, and from what I understand, it was a damn sharp one, too. No signs of struggle." Misha stood with him now, listening as he talked through the possiblities, something they had done a thousand times in their five years. Only seemingly, more intense.

"Okay, so she died feeling no pain. Most likely, whoever supplied her killed her. No signs of strugge, so it was probably someone she knew, or cared about even." As Jensen spoke, his partner drew closer, his stance different and an unknown emotion clouding his eyes. His heart launched into overdrive when his partner continued his advance. 

Misha nodded, coming closer still, "He supplied her, watched her eyes glaze over," he was a few inches from Jensen now, and bringing his arms around Jensen's back, "then, he gathered her in his arms, drew her close," their chests were touching now, breath mingling together again, and Jensen's heart was in his mouth, " he made her feel safe and then he killed her."

Misha punctuated the sentence with a heavy thump on his back, right where the entry wound would have been, and every ounce of breath seemed to leave Jensen in an instant. Around them, the music changed, and sweet classical instrumental filled the air.

"Dance with me?" Misha half-pleaded with him.

Not sure he could trust his voice, he settled for an all but frantic nod.

Then, just like that, they were off, faling in step with one another like they'd been doing it for years. In a way, they had, just a different dance to a different tune, but one none the less. Slowly they made their way around the open space of the living room, traveling in an arcing circle, blue eyes never leaving green.

The song changed once again, leaving him to gape in surprise when the baritone of Misha's voice joined in with Bing Crosby's "Something's Gotta Give." He listened intently to the soft crooning by his ear as they swayed to the rhythm.

_When an irresistable force such as you,_

_Meets an old immovable object like me,_

_You can bet just as sure as you live,_

_Something's got to give,_

_Something's got to give,_

_Something's got to give,_

The next few lyrics had a grin breaking out across his face.

_When an irrepressable smile such as yours,_

_Warms an old implacable heart such as mine,_

_Don't say no, because I insist,_

_Somewhere, somehow, someone's gonna get kissed,_

_So, en garde, who knows what the fates might have in store?_

_From their vast mysterious sky?_

_I'll try hard ignoring those lips that I adore,_

_But how long can anyone try?_

They both were grinning widely now.

_Fight, fight, fight, fight, fight it with all of our might,_

_Chances are some heavenly star-spangeled night,_

_We'll find out just as sure as we live_

They finished out the song in tandem now, voices harmonizing together.

_Something's gotta give,_

_Something's gotta give,_

_Something's gotta give._

Whatever song played after that was ultimately ignored, because all other thought flew out the window due to Misha's next question.

"Is tonight our "heavenly star-spangeled night'?"

His response came out wrecked and broken, but no less enthusiatic.

"God, yes."

Five years of waiting, of pining, subtle flirting, and sleepless night's worth of frustration molded them together. It was a sweet kiss, all chapped lips and underlying hunger, wrapped up in heavenly promises. 

When they finally parted, still mere inches fom each other, the word wasn't a question, but a whole hearted plea.

"Stay."

His answer was another kiss, hoping to brand the word yes into his partner's lips.

 _Always_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone wanna guess what the next chapter will be? Let me know what you think! (If you find any errors, please feel free to let me know. My computer crashed halfway through so I don't know if I caught them all.)  
> ~K


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is approximately 2,147 words of smut. Enjoy.  
> ~K
> 
> Beta: rieraclaelin

He had to be hallucinating. There was no way that he'd managed to stumble his way up the stairs, into the bedroom, and all with his partner glued to him.

A partner that was now perched on the end of the bed, shirtless, with the most wicked 'come hither' glint in his eyes. Moonlight streaming through the window threw shadows across the floor and the bed where Jensen was sitting, casting his features in a darker, sexier way than before.

His heart might actually give out during this.

_But damn, what a way to go._

Under anyone else's gaze, he might have been a little self-conscious about undressing, but something about the way Jensen stared at him like he was a man dying of thirst and Misha was the last drop of water was... liberating. He made short work of the buttons on his shirt before discarding it somewhere on the floor.

The bruises on his ribs and back had faded out a bit, yellowing out a bit around the edges, but he knew that wasn't what the concerned glance was for.

Time seemed to grind to a halt when his partner stood and circled around him, but he forced his breathing to even out and remain steady as the first waves of anxiety started to hit him. He hadn't actually thought this part through yet.

_This could all fall apart now._

He could feel the heat rolling off Jensen's chest as he came to a stop behind him, and his thoughts hit overdrive panic mode.

_What if he doesn't want someone so damaged? What if he's actually appalled by them? No one wants someone broken like this. What if-_

The panicky tirade of thoughts whirling about in his head came to a stuttering stop when he felt the first touch of Jensen's hands. They skated over the scars softy, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake before settling firmly on his hips. Reverence reverberated through the first touch of lips on his back and the one after that and so on. Plush lips soothed tension and worry away from one shoulder blade to the other, not leaving a single mark untouched.

No one had touched him like this in... Ever. No one had whispered praises of bravery and admiration into his marred skin, telling him that he was beautiful and in no way broken. It made his chest tighten and his heart stick in his throat.

Jensen didn't stop him when he turned to him, but instead wordlessly let him know that he wasn't disgusted by anything.

He pressed an insistent 'thank you' into his partner's lips.

When the first whimpery gasps broke from Jensen's lips, something inside him snapped, and suddenly he wanted  _everything._ Every gasp, whimper, moan, and plea that he could pull from the man pressed against him, he wanted them all. His sudden need had him grinding the heel of his palm against his partner's denim clad hardness, while his other hand gripped the short hairs on the back of his neck, dominating the kiss. For a moment they just simply ground against each other, devouring every inch of each other in long sweeping glances of tongue and teasing nips of teeth, laden with promises of pleasure.

They stumbled onto the bed a little harder than intended, Misha atop Jensen, a small ' _oof!'_ emanating from the body beneath him, but he merely pressed an apology into his neck in the form of teasing bites and suckles while wrestling with Jensen's belt.

He silently thanked whatever deity that might have been listening when he managed to, blindly, find the lube and condoms in the nightstand drawer.

Jensen keened beneath him when he finally whipped the strap of leather away, sending it clattering to the floor, and popped the button on his jeans. He took his time making his way to the waistband of the jeans, if he was only going to get to do this once, he wanted to do it right. 

Ignoring the way his dick ached in his jeans, he paid close attention to what made his partner writhe, like when he paused to leave dark marks on pale, freckled skin around his collarbones, or when he turned his ministrations to each dusky pink nipple, laving and biting both of the stiff peaks. Continuing his trek downward, he stopped again to suck a few more spots onto the softness around Jensen's stomach and the lines of hipbones peeking from the tops of his jeans, running his tongue across the seam of where fabric met skin.

All the while, Jensen twisted, clenching and unclenching his fists in the sheets, letting out half moans and whimpers, his face flushed and eyes dark with lust.

"Mish, I swear on my goddamn badge, if you don't stop teasing me and hurry up, I'm going to cuff you to this damn bed and have my way with you myself." Jensen practically growled.

Chuckling, but taking pity on the worked up man, he quickly yanked his partner's jeans and boxers down and off of him. His own dick twitched at the sight of Jensen's springing free, precome making the head shiny. 

He licked his lips and gave Jensen a once over before replying,

"Don't make promises you can't keep now, Jen."

* * *

 

Jensen couldn't have stopped the embarrassingly loud moan that came from him, even if he'd had a thousand years to prepare for it. No wet dream, wild fantasy, or hallucinatory drug he'd ever been exposed to in his entire life could compare to the sensations wrecking him now.

His hands tangled in Misha's already wild hair when his tongue flicked sinfully over the head of his cock, teasing the slit, before licking a long stripe up the underside. Misha continued his assault by sucking down a good two-thirds of him, effectively taking attention away from the lube slicked finger that was now pressing into him. His hips canted up off the bed when the finger slipped deeper, forcing Misha to pull off before he choked.

Jensen was no stranger to fingers in his ass, but  _Misha's_  were so much better. They were long and delightfully thick, and perfectly capable of reducing him to a writhing mess.

His partner looked absolutely debauched, spit and precome dribbling off his chin, lips swollen and shiny, hair sticking up in eighty different directions, with eyes so lust blown that his irises were reduced to nothing more than barely visible blue rings.

Now, with one hand jacking his cock and the other working room for a second finger, Jensen was sure his lungs were going to collapse from how hard he was panting. 

That was until Misha's second finger pushed in with the first and the tip brushed against his prostate.

After that, he had to rely on his body to sustain itself, because he wasn't sure if he knew how to do anything but spread his legs wider and moan his partner's name. Misha had crawled up closer to his face now, running a teasing tongue across the shell of his ear, while his fingers continued to pump in and out, scissoring him open.

"I take it you like that, huh?" Misha whispered, voice fucked out, rough, and dripping with filthy intentions.

He mewled back, his hips canting harder than before, chasing down what his body most desperately wanted.

"Do you have any idea how long I've waited for this?' He began pushing a third finger in before continuing on, mouthing the words against Jensen's neck.

"Any idea at all of how long I've wanted to see you on  _my_  bed, writhing on  _my_  fingers, moaning  _my_  name?" He stressed each point with an insistent rub against his prostate, eliciting more mewls and moans.

_"Too long."_

Misha pulled away from him, removing his fingers gently, leaving him to whine at the loss while Misha made quick work of divesting himself of his jeans. 

Jensen practically melted into a puddle on the bed when he caught sight of a fully naked Misha, and if he didn't already have an obsession with his thighs, he  _definetely_ did now. Done in black ink across his right thigh, was [a skull and revolver tattoo](http://the-dangerous-ginger.tumblr.com/post/121774078029/mishas-tattoo-in-tlwl-photo-is-not-mine) with the words **Жизнь Мы Живем** written in blocky letters underneath. 

_Hidden tattoo kink? Check._

Long, lean lines of tanned muscle worked in fluid tandem as his partner crawled back in between his still spread legs, cock bobbing with the movement. He watched hungrily as Misha rolled on a condom and drizzled more lube onto himself. It wasn't until Misha had gripped his hips, pushed past the ring of muscle, and was pushing the rest of the way in that he noticed how thick and long the man really was. He gripped the headboard behind him and rose his hips to meet his partner's, eyes rolling to the back of his head, spewing profanity and moaning like his life depended on it.

Now fully seated, Misha gazed down at him, mouth slightly open and tan chest flushed. The way he looked at him made him feel cherished, cared for, and... loved, almost. Here under the weight of Misha's body and stare, he didn't feel demeaned or emasculated. No, he felt liberated, and a tiny part of him maybe even felt... beautiful.

* * *

 

Tight, scorching hot heat surrounded him and stole his breath away.

"Are you...  _fuck_... is this okay?" He managed to ask.

Under him, Jensen nodded frantically, "Yes, I'm good, great, whatever just  _move, please._ "

That was all the incentive he needed to set up a steady rhythm, slowly increasing the pace as threads of his control unraveled. Half growled pleas and moans fell from his partner's lips like prayers, and were the most beautiful music to Misha's ear. The change in angle when he pulled Jensen closer to him by the hips had the man arching of the bed and flying apart under him with each new piston against his prostate.

"Yesyesyesyesyes,  _oh holy fuck right there,_ fuck you're _so deep!"_ He chanted and spurred Misha on even further, to the point that they'd both have bruises from how hard he was pounding into him.

It wasn't until Jensen's hips rose to meet his thrust for thrust, that he wrapped a hand around his neglected cock and started talking in low, rough tones.

"You gonna come for me, Jen? Paint that gorgeous chest white all while screamingmy name?"

Misha had thought he'd seen beauty before, but this... this topped it all. 

The way Jensen's eyes rolled to the back of his head and his mouth dropped open to let out the  _loudest, filthiest_  moan he'd ever heard, had his own orgasm rushing to the surface, the heat settling low in his stomach.

"Mish, I can't, I'm gonna-  _oh fuck!_ " Jensen nearly screamed when he nailed his prostate, and an upward flick of the wrist sent him over the edge, pulling Misha with him.

Wave after wave of pleasure tried to drown him as he watched Jensen's eyes screw shut and every muscle in his body lock up as thick, white ropes covered Misha's hand and his chest.

After he rode out the aftershocks, he rolled off the edge of the bed and headed into the ensuite bathroom, wincing at the sudden bright light. He tied off the condom and tossed it into the trash, returning to the bedroom with a warm wash cloth. 

Gently, he cleaned himself and Jensen, pressing soft kisses on the dark marks and whispering a litany of praises into his skin. 

The kiss they shared was slow, lazy, and perfect. 

He pulled away just enough to ask, "Are you alright?"

One green eye cracked open, and a half giggle-snort filled the silence, causing the corners of his mouth to quirk up as well.

"I think that's the hardest I've came in a long time." Jensen tucked a hand underneath his head so he could look at him better.

"You sure you didn't throw your hip out during that last stretch?" He teased, eyes sparkling in the dim light.

Misha let out a breathless laugh and ducked his head, avoiding his partner's gaze, cheeks burning and the tips of his ears turning red. 

"Sorry about that. I shouldn't have been that rough with you the first time. I just got overwhelmed and-" He babbled until he felt a tug on his hair. He lifted his head to meet his partner's eyes once again.

"Hey," Jensen said softly, "I sure as hell ain't complaining. That was  _a-fucking-mazing_  in my book."

He relaxed a little and placed his head against the sturdy chest under him, listening to the steady heartbeat thrumming inside. 

They both fell asleep like that. Misha listening to Jensen's heartbeat, while Jensen carded fingers through Misha's hair and ran absent fingertips down the length of his spine, over the scars that lay embedded in the skin. Whatever tomorrow held for the two of them would have to wait, because for tonight they were content to lay wrapped in each other.

That night, Misha didn't dream of cold ground and whip lashings. Instead, he dreamt of green eyes and warm laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: I had to make a few changes because I forgot something kinda important. (Oops!) A super big thank you to rieraclaelin for the emergency help! Let me know what you think!  
> ~K


	10. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had to go back a chapter because I goofed and forgot an important detail, but it's been fixed, yay! Big thanks to rieraclaelin for helping me with my screw up and becoming my (much needed) Beta!  
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K
> 
> Beta tumblr: http://rieraclaelin.tumblr.com/  
> ^^Go show some love, yeah? ^^

He was warm. _Really warm._

It may have had something to do with the fact that he had the world’s hottest human space heater wrapped around him like a vine.

Which would be completely fine, except it felt like he was in a sauna and his bladder was _screaming_ at him.

_This is going to be interesting._

Cautiously, Jensen cracked open an eyelid, wincing at the sunlight streaming through the window. His gaze flickered down to Misha’s still sleeping form sprawled across him.

The sheet pooled around their waists and Misha had one leg thrown over his, the thick black ink of the top of his tattoo peeking out from under the edge of the linen. He could make what looked like smoke wafting off the end of the revolver and a few rose petals from where he was lying. To add to the stifling heat, Misha had his right arm tucked under him, pulling him close.

He ignored his bladder for the moment in favor of staring down at his partner.

For once, Misha truly looked peaceful. The man tried so hard to make people believe that he was carefree and never stressed but Jensen never fell for any of it. Now, it was even more evident.

The lines of tension that normally rested around his eyes were smooth, his neck much less stiff, and he looked overall relaxed. The sight had a small grin forming across his face.

His eyes roamed the rest of his partner’s exposed flesh, marveling at how much more suntanned he looked in broad daylight. He studied the white lines across his back and shoulders, heart twisting as he attempted to count them.

Eventually, he gave up trying to count them because there were too many to try at the time, so he settled for studying each intently. Some of them were thin, while others were thick as if they’d been split open multiple times, and some were short where others were long. They overlapped and crossed each other in sporadic patterns with no real consistency to them.

He decided that further examination would have to wait when his bladder, not so gently, reminded him of its issue. Carefully, he unwound himself from Misha, trying his best not to wake the man. After he successfully extracted himself from the vice grip, he slid off the bed and started his way to the bathroom he’d seen Misha disappear into the night before. Jensen in all his nude glory hobbled his way to the bathroom, not accustomed to feeling so pleasantly used.

He relieved himself quickly and was washing his hands when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The last time he’d seen his reflection he had barely been able to recognize himself, but _now_? Now, he had no clue as to who was staring back at him.

Dark marks covered both sides of his neck, littered his collar bones, and painted his stomach and hipbones. He also found a few finger-shaped bruises along his hips and thighs.

Jensen was still gaping at his newest additions when Misha snuck in behind him, wrapping his arms around his middle and placing his head on Jensen’s shoulder. His blue eyes raked over Jensen with an undisguised hunger before catching Jensen’s gaze.

“I woke up and you weren’t there.” Misha grumbled playfully in his ear, nipping at his earlobe.

His response came out a little more hoarse than he expected, a blush stealing its way across his cheeks when he realized how fucked out his voice sounded.

“Sorry about that. I was burnin’ up and in desperate need of emptying my bladder.” He cleared his throat before continuing, “It looks like I’ve been through war, you know.”

Misha snickered quietly, “What can I say? I like marking my territory so everyone knows what’s _mine_.”

His partner’s possessive streak was turning out to be a massive turn on for both of them, judging from the hardness now pressed against his ass.

“How about a shower?” Misha asked and pulled away from him.

Jensen watched quietly as his partner grabbed two towels and turned on the shower taps, and took the chance to study his tattoo a little more closely. Like he had spied earlier, it consisted of a skull and smoking revolver with a rose blooming out of the top right corner, but what really had him intrigued were the blocky words below it.

“What do the words on your leg mean? If you don’t mind me asking of course.” He asked over the rush of the water, stepping into the tub at Misha’s beckoning, glass door sliding shut behind him.

Misha let them both soak under the hot water for a minute before answering.

“ **Жизнь Мы Живем** roughly translates to “the life we live” or “way of life” in Russian.” He grabbed the shampoo bottle on the small shelf beside him, pouring a healthy amount in his palm before settling it in Jensen’s hair, massaging it into his scalp.

Misha chuckled at the small moan that he let out before continuing, “It was one of Sasha’s favorite sayings. He’d say to me, ‘Brother, the life we live is a hard one but together we can achieve greatness.’ Over the years after we escaped he said it less and less, but I always kept those words close.” He turned Jensen around and tipped his chin back to let the soap wash away.

“After he died I got it in tattoo form along with the revolver and skull. It’s a reminder that even though he’s no longer here, we can still achieve greatness together in his memory.” He spoke with a sad fondness of his lost brother, his eyes distant with memories.

Deciding that was enough heaviness for one morning, he set on the task of distracting Misha, and reached behind him for the shampoo. He returned the favor of washing his dark hair before letting his hands wander, soapy hands skating across every inch of skin he could reach but purposely avoiding the place Misha wanted him to touch most.

Trading places, he gently pushed his partner under the stream of hot water before taking advantage of the fact Misha’s eyes were closed. Silently, he dropped to a crouch in front of his partner, hands coming up to grip his thighs and teeth nipping at each of the sharp hipbones there.

Upon taking his cock in hand and mouthing at the head, one of Misha’s hand shot out to brace himself while the other tangled itself in his hair. Taking that as encouragement, he started slowly working his way down the length, trying to catch every drop of precome on his tongue as possible, while he covered the rest with his hand.

Above him, Misha let out a low whine before he started a tirade of filth that had him achingly hard in seconds, “Fucking _Christ_ Jen. You look so damn hot down on your knees like that, lips all stretched around my cock.”

He let out a wanton moan at the words and sucked harder, causing Misha to throw his head back in response. Steadily, he increased his pace and relaxed his jaw, feeling the head bump against the back of his throat, and soon Misha was shallowly fucking his mouth. Jensen was completely content on letting him do all the work so he could focus on watching Misha fall apart above him.

He waited until the very last second to pull away when Misha growled out a warning, letting the thick stripes of come land on his lips and cheeks. Misha let out a strangled noise from the back of his throat when he saw him swipe his fingers across his face and pop them into his mouth, savoring the bitter- salty taste of him.

Before he could protest or even register what was happening, he was being hauled to his feet, breath being stolen from him by Misha’s fiery kiss. His knees nearly buckled when he felt a hand wrap around him and set a near brutal pace. It took an embarrassingly short amount of time before he was shouting his release against his partner’s neck, and slumping against him.

Satiated, they finished their shower in the cooling water, hands never leaving each other for more than a few seconds. They dressed together, Jensen borrowing a t-shirt and boxers, still touching, running hands through each other’s hair whenever they stopped for a kiss.

Misha had gone downstairs to make them a quick breakfast, leaving Jensen to wander around and entertain himself. He spent a minute basking in the morning sunlight on the small balcony connected to the master bedroom before deciding he would join his partner downstairs. He gave a passing glance at the plain white door across from the master bedroom, curious as to why it was the only room inside the house with a lock on it, but filing it under ‘things to ask another time’.

Jensen had just sat down on the stool from the previous night when the kettle on the stove began to whistle. He watched as Misha went about fixing his tea, murmuring a small “thank you” when he set a cup of coffee, fixed to his liking, in front of him

“So,” he began grinning and taking a sip of coffee, “this is… domestic.”

Misha nodded thoughtfully letting the statement sit for a minute before adding his thoughts on the matter.

“I figure, five years of dancing around each other was a pretty decent precursor for domesticity, but if you think otherwise, I can take my coffee back and kick you out.”

Jensen faked a hurt look when Misha shot him a wink and a shit-eating grin.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it looks like there will be at least twelve more chapters in this hot mess if I write everything I want, but I got the plot for the rest of the story figured out! Yay me! I certainly hope you guys will like it. Anywho, let me know what you think!


	11. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> Beta: rieraclaelin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K  
> Beta: rieraclaelin

When they’d been called into the conference for an impromptu strategy meeting, this was not how he envisioned it panning out. Inwardly, he hoped whatever was being said right now wasn’t important.

He wasn’t quick enough to dodge the end of Misha’s boot, and had to suppress a grunt when it connected painfully with his shin. Beside him, Misha was busy trying to keep from cracking. His face was turning an almost alarming shade of red and his body shook with silent laughter.

Jensen angled his body to the left a little, facing his partner slightly more than before. Keeping his eyes trained on their captain, he kicked his left leg forward quickly, aiming for Misha’s right shin.

He didn’t notice how Misha had changed his footing, moving his leg completely out of the way, until it was too late.

The loud _bang!_ of Jensen’s steel toe connecting with the back of the chair leg in front of him reverberated throughout the room, and more than a few heads turned in his and Misha’s direction, where the two sat guiltily in the back corner.

He could feel his entire face catch fire from his neck to the tips of his ears.

Misha was all but _rolling_ on the floor at this point, laughter almost shaking him out of his chair. He slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle it as tears rolled down his cheeks in constant streams.

Jensen just prayed a hole would appear and swallow them both at this point.

“Are you two fucking morons done?” Their captain, a surly man in his late fifties with a rapidly growing bald spot, snapped at them.

Gathering his composure and wiping his eyes, Misha fixed the captain with a straight face, eyes still twinkling with amusement, “Yes sir. We apologize for interrupting.”

“ _Thank you_. Now, as I was saying before I was _rudely interrupted_ , two weeks from today an unlabeled shipment is set to depart from one of our bays. The destination at this point has yet to be confirmed, but the theory is it’s headed for Khabarovsk. We’re going to intercept it.”

A young, blonde haired guy sitting near the front timidly rose his hand, speaking in low, polite tones, “Sir, if, hypothetically, they are going to Khabarovsk, why are they leaving from an L.A. port? Wouldn’t it be easier to launch from San Francisco if they were planning on utilizing a bigger city in Cali?”

The captain pointed a stubby finger at the guy, “That was going to be my next point. Excellent question.”

“We also have a theory that this man,” He gestured to the whiteboard sitting at the front of the room when a black and white picture was pinned to it, “is also going to be there. He could even be the whole reason the shipment is leaving from L.A., because, we pulled a partial print from the tag on the last Vic, and so far his fingerprints are the closest match we have.”

In the photo, was a tall, blonde haired man with dark sunglasses covering his eyes, a cigarette in hand as he strolled the streets of what looked like Moscow.

He knew who the man was before the captain even had a chance to utter his name.

“Rozanov Mendev. Get a good look people, because this bastard is slippery.”

Jensen tore his eyes away from the pixilated picture slapped on the whiteboard, sparing a glance at his partner and ignoring the details being read off that he already knew by heart.

The amusement had faded from Misha’s eyes, leaving him grim and stoic faced.

Distantly, he heard the captain dismiss everyone, but he stayed put for a moment.

Instead, he squeezed his partner’s arm gently, trying his best to convey sympathy, and a silent, ‘ _We’ll get him.’_

A small, almost imperceptible, smile graced Misha’s features for a moment before he clapped a hand on Jensen’s knee and stood to leave with the rest of the staff.

He, too, stood with the intent of reminding his partner of the… finer things in life when his phone buzzed in his pocket, signaling he received a text.

**_Jared: Hey J got a min? Need 2 talk 2 u._ **

Eyebrow furrowed he sat back down and hit the call button beside his friend’s name. A few rings later he had his hands full with an extremely excited Jared.

_“JENSEN!!”_

He quickly pulled the phone away from his ear, wincing from how loud the greeting was. Gingerly, he pressed the phone back to his ear, laughing breathlessly at his friend’s apparent excitement.

“Yeah, it’s me. No need to scream.” His reply came out a little less grumpy than what he wanted but he could hardly keep the tone because of his grin.

“What’s up? I only have a few minutes.”

_“I figured I owed you a congratulations.”_

“Congratulations? What exactly am I being congratulated for now?” He asked immense confusion coloring his words.

_“For finally growing a pair.”_ Jared apparently perceived his silence as a queue to continue, tone somewhat suspicious, _“I stopped by your place the other night and was going to ask if you wanted to go for a drink, but you weren’t there…”_

“Uh yeah, I was- I was out.” He stuttered, the realization of just what he was being praised for sinking in.

_“I KNEW IT!!”_ Jared hollered in his ear again. “You two finally pulled your heads out of your asses and put them somewhere better.” Jensen could practically hear the eyebrow wiggle inserted at the end of that sentence.

“Alright, no. No way am I having this conversation with you.” Nope. Not a snowball’s chance in Hell.

_“Aww but Jeeennn!!”_ his friend drew out in an exaggerated whine.

“You are such a chick sometimes! No, I am not telling you about how good Misha’s skills in bed are.” The last sentence flew out of his mouth before he could even think about it.

He could have put his head through a wall at Jared’s outright guffaw.

_Way to go, Ackles. Just go ahead and add a little more fuel to the fire. You haven’t seared yourself crispy enough, yet._

Jared continued to cackle over the line while he mentally kicked himself, snorting a few times before he started to croon, _“Jensen and Misha sittin’ in a tree. F-U-C-”_

He damn near put his finger through the phone trying to mash the end button, cutting Jared’s song off.

A few moments after that he received another text.

**_Jared: -K-I-N-G!!_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be completely honest, humor is one of the hardest things for me to write. I have no idea why though. Anyway, like this one? Let me know!
> 
> ~K


	12. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty big chapter here.  
> Trigger warning: slight self harm.  
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K  
> My lovely Beta: rieraclaelin

It had been three long, grueling days since the strategy meeting, and they were nowhere closer to finding anything or anyone than when they’d started. Misha could feel his patience slipping from his grasp inch by inch, but his partner had done a spectacular job of keeping him grounded for the time being, reminding him of the _‘finer things in life’_ as he so eloquently put it.

Good Lord did he remind him, too.

Misha would never be able to look at his truck the same again, or the supply closet, or the dusty back corner of the evidence room, mere inches away from the extent of the security camera feed. Jensen was either practically insatiable or _really_ determined to keep him occupied.

Not that he was complaining.

Unfortunately, you don’t work with someone for as long as he and Jensen had without picking up on certain things. Like being able to tell when your partner is hiding something.

He’d noticed it when he first came in to work.

The way Jensen seemed to fidget in his chair, the muscle in his jaw ticking like it did when he wanted to say something but couldn’t. What really set Misha on edge, though, was when his partner wouldn’t meet his eyes when he spoke to him, choosing to hide behind file folders instead.

Finally, Misha had enough. He stood from his chair, crossing the short space between their desks, and carefully plucked the folder from Jensen’s hands, closing it and setting it aside.

Still, Jensen refused to meet his gaze, looking down at his hands.

_Stubborn bastard._

“Jensen,” He started carefully, “look at me.”

He could see the reluctance cross his partner’s face as he slowly tilted his head up to look at him. When green eyes finally settled on blue, he knew something terrible had happened. Misha steeled himself, unsure of what to expect but knowing that he’d need to be prepared either way.

“What happened?” He asked quietly.

“Mish…” Jensen began eyes pleading. ‘ _Just drop it’, ‘you don’t wanna know’, ‘don’t make me tell you’,_ his tone conveyed.

“Answer. Me.” He told him sharply, outdone with the stalling.

Jensen outwardly flinched at the command, squeezing his eyes closed, jaw clenching tightly for a moment before blurting,

“Adrian Denton is dead. They found him last night strung up with a tag around his ankle a few blocks away from his home.”

Misha flinched hard enough to stumble backwards and into the edge of his desk, sending a cup of pens clattering to the floor, the words feeling like they’d burned him. He could feel the color drain from his face and the instant onset of nausea roll in.

It wasn’t possible. He had put in the request to get the kid and his family protection weeks ago. What had happened? What did he do wrong?

He must have said something out loud because Jensen was suddenly directly in front of him, gripping his arms.

“Nothing. You did _absolutely nothing_ wrong. The request you put in didn’t go through and no one thought to say anything about it. This is not on you, Mish.” He paused long enough to draw in a breath before continuing.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d be upset and I hate seeing you that way…”

His voice trailed off as Misha pulled away from him, no longer capable of listening. He couldn’t even bear to turn and meet his partner’s gaze, to let him see just how weak this case was making him.

No, he was going to run from the mere mention of Mendev’s doings, _again_.

Numbly, he grabbed his keys and jacket, ignoring Jensen’s concerned looks and pleas for him to come back. Instead, he pulled on his jacket and pushed his way out of the precinct, ignoring another voice calling after him.

His destination already set.

He just had to drive.

* * *

 

Jensen stared dumbly at his partner’s retreating back, the plea for him to stop dying on his lips.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

He was at a loss about what to do. Should he go after him? Should he stay away and give him space? Was Misha even stable enough to be by himself until he got off work?

Jensen cast a glance at the mess of pens on the floor, remembering how Misha had backed away from him so suddenly, face turning ashen rapidly, the horror and guilt painted into his expression so vividly.

Crouching, he set about the task of picking up the mess on the floor. He’d been so caught up in the whirlwind of thoughts he hadn’t even heard the faint thud of heels across the office carpet.

“Um.” A timid voice began.

He glanced up, eyes raking over a pair of black dress slacks and cream colored blouse before landing on the face of a dark haired woman.

_Vicki?_

Quickly standing up, he set the cup of pens back where they belonged and directed his attention the woman in front of him.

“Vicki Vantoch,” she said, sticking the hand that wasn’t holding a stack of files out, “you must be Jensen.”

“Uh, yeah- I mean yes ma’am. That’s me.” He corrected himself, taking her hand and shaking it. “What can I do for you?”

Vicki set the files down and went about smoothing down her dress pants for a second before replying, “Go after Misha.”

He couldn’t even get in a surprised response uttered because she was still speaking, her words tumbling out and tripping over themselves in her rush to say it all.

“I’m going to save you a lot of questions. I know you better than you think because my best friend has been pining after you for years. I also know when he’s really upset and trust me he is super upset right now and if there is anybody that can help him it’s you and-”

“Okay, okay, easy there, take a breath. I got it. You want me to go find him because you think I can help.” He interrupted in fear of the woman hyperventilating in front of him.

“I can’t though. I’ve already got to find a way to explain why my partner is missing, so there’s no way I can just leave right now.” The words were a lie but he just didn’t know how to handle this.

The look Vicki gave him told him that she wasn’t buying that poor excuse.

“Go.” She told him sternly, pointing to the door, “I’ll take care of the explaining. He needs someone right now before he hurts himself.”

~~~

_“This is Detective Collins of…”_

Jensen didn’t even waste his time listening to the rest of his partner’s voicemail, tossing the phone into the seat beside him. After six calls with no answer, he could feel the beginnings of panic start to slither in.

He let out an immense sigh of relief when he saw Misha's truck parked in his driveway.

'I just hope he's still here.'

When he received no answer at the door, he merely let himself in. He scoured every inch of the first floor, calling for his partner loudly, only to get no answer.

Carefully, he made his way up the stairs, heading straight for the master bedroom. He threw back the blankets to find an empty bed and checked the balcony to no avail.

He was teetering on the edge of full blown panic when he caught sight of the door that had been locked the other morning. Somewhere, deep down, he seemed to instinctively know that was where he'd find his partner.

The doorknob was cold under his hand, but it opened easily, swinging open quietly. A frigid blast of air swept across him as he stepped over the threshold.

What was inside the room actually surprised him.

It was a harshly lit plain room, completely devoid of furniture, save a high backed chair in the middle, where Misha sat facing away from him. Three of the four walls were stark, pristine white, while the fourth was entirely made of glass, leaving an unhindered view of the outside world. The floors were made of bleached hardwood and if he looked close enough, he could see patches of pink stains scattered across it. His stomach turned at the assumption of what those stains were.

The room was incredibly cold and disturbingly eerie.

Jensen didn’t like this room, _at all._

His partner didn't turn or so much as even flinch at the call of his name, just sat staring straight ahead of him out the window.

It wasn't until Jensen had drawn much closer that he realized that Misha was shirtless and bleeding from his back. He wasn't bleeding profusely, though, just a few of the scars having been reopened enough to trickle a little blood.

In a sad way, it reminded him of how an addict would rip and claw at their own skin, trying to get whatever invisible thing their mind had conjured up, out of them.

He circled the chair and came to stop in front of Misha, and when his partner didn’t respond, he kneeled in front of him, taking each of Misha’s stained hands in his own. The hands in his were limp and shaky, fingers like icicles.

Jensen simply waited, knees aching on the wooden floor.

Misha looked older like this. His face haggard and pale, eyes distant and glassy with unrepressed memories. He shivered almost violently, the air around him raising goosebumps across his skin.

He was contemplating going and getting a towel and blanket when Misha finally spoke.

“I promised.” The words came out broken and sad, tearing a hole in Jensen’s heart, but he remained silent, letting him continue.

“I promised myself that I would find him before he killed another innocent. Denton was just a kid, Jen.” His lip quivered with every word, tear filled eyes finally meeting Jensen’s. Jensen swallowed hard and squeezed his partner’s hands.

He knew he was just a kid, and God did it hurt him to know it. He desperately wished their last interaction hadn’t been him grilling the kid for something that would eventually get him killed.

“I saw myself in him. A kid trying to protect his family no matter the cost. Whether it be jail time or death, he wasn’t about to put them in danger.” A broken sob escaped Misha’s throat as he continued, tears starting to trail their way down his cheeks.

“Before we released him, I told him that I’d get him and his family protection. Then, after that, he could come talk to me and tell me everything without fear. What if I signed his death certificate by saying that? What if-.” He couldn’t finish the sentence, pulling his hands away from Jensen’s and burying his face in them.

Jensen wanted to tear his own heart out and toss it on the floor. Maybe it would hurt less than having to see his partner in such an emotional state. He wanted the goofy, carefree Misha back. The one obsessed with time, green tea, and weird animal-hybrids.

Of course, Misha had been three sheets to the wind when he came up with them, but still.

He didn’t look up when Jensen got to his feet and went to fetch a towel and blanket.

Quickly, Jensen made his way into the bedroom, tearing the comforter off the bed and depositing it in the doorway when he headed downstairs. He searched the utility room, finding an old ratty towel and the first aid kit. After making a final pit stop in the kitchen for a glass of water, he carted everything back upstairs and into where Misha was.

He pulled Misha out of the chair and into his lap, dabbed the blood away with the towel, then wrapped both of them in the thick comforter and handing his partner the glass. He would worry about properly cleaning the wounds later.

Oddly, he found the weight of the man comforting. He was sure that somewhere in the book of life this was probably considered weird, but he really didn’t give a damn.

Was he going to hurt later for it? Probably.

He still didn’t give a damn.

“You know,” he commented casually, swiping a tear off Misha’s cheek with his thumb, “this is the second time I’ve gotten to take care of you. I might get used to it if you aren’t careful.”

Misha let out a watery laugh at the comment, curling into Jensen’s chest and tucking his head under Jensen’s chin.

The two made a hell of a sight, he was sure, but here they were safe.

Anyone who had a problem with it could go fuck themselves.

* * *

 

“I have a few questions.” Jensen announced above him.

They’d been here for a while. Misha knew Jensen’s legs had to be hurting, but he hadn’t said anything, and Misha _really_ didn’t want to move.

He was a lot calmer than earlier, Jensen’s touch and care seeming to be what brought him back to Earth.

Was he still upset? Yes.

Was he more rational than earlier? Yes.

“Go for it.” Misha knew what questions were coming. He’d already told Jensen everything else, so why not this, too?

He could feel a hand card through his hair, playing with the strands soothingly. Jensen was making sure he was okay before starting the questionnaire.

“Why did you hurt yourself?” The words were quiet and strained, giving away the fact that Jensen was upset he’d done it.

He sighed and shifted a little in his partner’s lap before answering, voice hoarse and gravelly from crying, “The pain kept me grounded, reminded me that this, unfortunately, wasn’t a nightmare.”

“What’s the deal with this room? Why the hell is it freezing in here, for that matter?”

“I call it the ‘Blank Room’. It’s completely empty most of the time, except for the chair, and soundproof. The cold reminds me of home. The white helps me think and the bright light leaves little room for shadows. Shadows make me nervous in this state.” He paused. “I come in here when I know the world doesn’t need to see me breakdown.”

“The window kind of defeats the purpose though. Don’t you think?”

“It’s a one way window, kind of like what’s in an interrogation room. You can see out of it, but not into it.”

“Okay.” Jensen shifted a little under him.

_We probably need to move soon._

“So when you feel your control slipping, you come park it in the freezer for a few minutes.”

“Minutes, hours, days. I’ve spent a lot of time in this room, most of the time so lost in thought that I don’t sleep, I don’t eat, I don’t do… anything. If my body distracts me enough to let me know I have to go to the bathroom, I go and immediately return.”

Jensen’s hand had stilled when he said days, and he pulled away far enough to look Misha in the eye.

“Days, Mish?” His question was concerned and slightly frightened. “This is where you go when you call in sick, isn’t it? You come in here and starve yourself?”

Ashamed, he ducked his head and nodded.

“Baby, you can’t do that.” The endearment slipped past Jensen’s lips without pause, leaving Misha a little warmer even though he was being chastised.

“Next time,” A hand caught his chin and forced him to look up at Jensen’s stern face, “you call me. We’ll do this together, as a team, like we always do. Whatever it is we are now, we’re still partners too, and that means neither of us are going to have to suffer alone. Understand?”

Something bloomed in his chest at the words, wrapping itself around his heart and holding on tightly. Not trusting his voice, he settled for nodding in agreement.

He couldn’t hide his smile when Jensen pressed a gentle kiss on his lips and said grumpily, “Good. Now, let’s get off this cold ass floor.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a total pain in the ass to write. Did I make anyone emotional? I know I kinda was.  
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> ~K


	13. Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K  
> Beta: rieraclaelin

Jensen stayed the night and on into the next morning with Misha, even going as far to call them both in sick.

“The raid isn’t until next week and we both deserve a day off, dammit” He’d told his partner when Misha protested against staying home. Misha had reluctantly agreed and let Jensen clean the shallow scratches on his back, drifting in and out of consciousness under gentle fingers.

“You’re quite the mother hen, you know.” Misha had grumbled playfully, earning a thump on the ear.

They’d spent most of the morning lying in bed quietly, Misha laying his head on his chest while he ran his fingers across the raised lines on Misha’s back. It was peaceful and what both of them needed, so when Misha raised his head and asked him to stay with him for another night or two, he didn’t think twice.

Jensen was on his way back to Misha’s house, a duffle bag crammed full of essentials riding shotgun, when his phone started ringing, Jared’s name flashing across the screen.

He answered, pressed the speakerphone button, and set the phone in the cup holder.

“Jack’s mule house, Head Ass speaking.” He greeted with a grin.

_“That’s not the worst greeting I’ve ever gotten from you.”_ His friend laughed.

“Yeah, I know. What can I do for you?”

_“You think you can be the best ‘best man’ ever and help me out today?”_

“Of course I can. When and where?”

~~~

After dropping off his duffle and making sure Misha would be okay by himself for a little while, he headed out to meet Jared.

They’d decided to meet at a small café a little off the coast. A café that was now probably suffering from a food shortage due to his mammoth best friend.

As soon as he’d rounded the corner on the outside patio, Jared had spotted him and was on his feet charging towards him.

Normally, when one sees a 6’4” man with longish hair striding towards them, they’d be a little intimidated, but Jensen knew better. The man that was currently engulfing him in a hug so tight his breath caught, was the biggest (literally) teddy bear to walk the earth.

“Alright, you big oaf, let go of me!” He laughed when Jared wrapped himself around him, whispering _‘my precious’_ in his ear and effectively drawing the attention of every civilian around them.

After finally managing to untangle himself from his energetic best friend, he followed Jared back to the table he’d picked.

One of the reasons he loved Jared is because he knew him so well. Case in point, Jared had picked a table in the very corner of the patio, and took the seat with his back to the café, leaving Jensen with a view of any oncoming threats.

At least he thought that was the reason why, or maybe he just liked looking at the ocean, who knew with the enigma named Jared.

“So,” he started, watching the hazel eyed man wolf down half a sandwich, “you drug me all the way out here for… what? To watch you make this poor establishment suffer the wrath of your bottomless pit you call a stomach?”

Jared snorted around the remains of the sandwich, and proceeded to dig around in his pants pocket before tossing a small, navy colored box onto the table.

“That part is done. I just need a way of delivery.” Jared told him as he pinched the box open.

He grinned when he saw the small ring glittering inside, and slid the box back across the table. “Okay, it’ll be simple. Take her to that art museum you guys love so much and do it there.”

“I thought of that originally, but I think it’ll be too obvious that way. She already suspects I’m up to something because I’m shit at keeping secrets.” He fiddled with the lid for a second, “I want you to be there. She won’t think anything will happen and I think it’d be nice to have my best friend there as backup.”

Jared threw him his best puppy eyes, knowing that Jensen would never say no to them.

Not that he was going to anyway.

“You got it man. How about I ‘invite you guys out to dinner’ and then you do it then?” He asked him, already having a place in mind.  He might even bring Misha along….

The smile his best friend gave him could have lit up an entire city block, “Really? I mean, you wouldn’t mind doing that?”

He was just about to tell him that if he didn’t mean it, he wouldn’t say it, when a familiar brown-haired beauty caught his eye.

“Jensen?”

He might have found the way Jared’s head whipped around, fast enough to almost topple him over, funny if he wasn’t so shocked.

“Danneel.” He croaked back.

It had been an incredibly long time since either of them had seen each other, and the memory of those long months after their explosive breakup wriggled its way to the forefront of his mind.

Apparently, Jared hadn’t forgotten those months either, because his knuckles whitened from the tight grip he had on the edge of the table and his expression screamed cold fury. He shot Jensen a semi-reassuring look as she drew closer.

She stopped at the table, yellow sundress fluttering around her knees, and beamed at the pair. He stood and gave her a small hug before returning to his seat just as quickly, the scent of her perfume almost nauseating him.

The thought made him do a double take. At one time, that very smell would have had him practically salivating, with all its flowery sweetness.

Now, he preferred the headier scent of cinnamon and aftershave.

Jensen had been so caught up in his own thoughts he’d completely missed the small, heated interaction between Jared and Danneel, only to now look up and find them both looking very uncomfortable in each other’s presence. Whatever Jared had said to her had her face turning red and her posture stiffening up.

_Awkward…_

“Well,” she said, tugging at the end of her dress, “I won’t keep you two from eating. I just thought I’d stop by and say hello.”

She gave them both a tight smile before turning her attention fully on Jensen, telling him softly, “You look good, Jen. Whoever they are, they’re doing something right.”

Leaving him open mouthed and shocked, she turned and left.

He hadn’t even gotten to say anything to her!

“For as much as I don’t like her, she’s right. You do seem a lot happier now that you and Misha are finally together. It may not have been that long since it went official, but he’s having a profound effect on you.” Jared mused from across the table.

He nodded his thanks, not sure what to make of the entire situation. Everything had happened so quick he couldn’t even keep up.

“You look like you’re about to have one of your infamous ‘let’s analyze everything’ moments, so while you do that, I’m going to go get another sandwich. Want anything?” Jared teased him, trying to shake off the uncomfortable after effects of their interaction.

“Nah, thanks though.”

He settled back in his chair, surveying the area and thinking back on his earlier epiphany.

He preferred a lot of things now; the darker scent, hard planes of muscle instead of soft curves, strong and steady hands over small and delicate ones.

_Blue eyes instead of brown…_

_Misha over Danneel…_

Holy. Shit.

His realization hit him like a freight train, knocking the breath out of him and sending his heart into overdrive. Jesus, he could be dense sometimes.

It had been dangling right in front of him this entire time and he just now grasped it.

The rest of their conversation had been elated, with jokes and teases thrown at each other at a rapid pace, but he declined when Jared later asked if he wanted to go for a few beers at their favorite bar.

In his excitement, he nearly knocked over a tall, blonde woman on his way to his truck. He stammered out an apology, and after making sure she was okay, he sprinted the rest of the way to the truck.

He had something important to do, and he couldn’t stop the smile crossing his face if he tried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it, love it, hate it? Let me know?  
> ~K


	14. Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K  
> Beta: rieraclaelin

Misha could hear the rumble of Jensen’s truck pulling into his driveway and the dull thud of his heavy boots on the front steps. He ran a stressed hand through his hair, messing it up even further, he was sure.

He had a plan. A poorly thought out one, yes, but a plan none the less.

After he convinced Jensen of said plan, he was going to tell him. He refused to even think of the word until the last minute to avoid psyching himself out of saying it.

Funny how three little words could wreck someone so easily.

Jensen came bounding through the door, eyes sparkling with excitement, and strode towards where he was standing in the living room, the door just barely shutting behind him.

“Hey how-.” He was abruptly cut off when Jensen hauled him over by the shirt collar, leaving him breathless with a searing kiss. He melted into it easily after the initial shock wore off and kissed back with equal fervor.

Any attempts to ask about his day were long behind them now.

He turned them and stumbled towards the couch, staying connected even when Jensen straddled his hips. They remained like that for a few minutes, kissing and grinding against each other, until he broke away, needing to collect his thoughts and say his peace.

“I- ah,” he tripped over his own words when Jensen started mouthing at his neck, “have something to tell you.”

Jensen hummed and mumbled something that closely resembled a, ‘me, too.’ The fact that he didn’t continue on left the floor open for Misha, who was having a difficult time concentrating because of Jensen’s wandering hands.

“I think you should go visit your parents.” He managed to pant out.

He received a muffled, ‘okay’, but otherwise no reply.

“I mean now, Jen.”

Above him, Jensen froze, hands halting in their tracks, stopped just below his collarbones.

When he pulled back, his expression didn’t read the same excitement it did when he first came in. “What? Why would I do that with a raid, literally, next week?”

Misha sighed heavily.

_This isn’t going to end well._

He squeezed Jensen’s thighs gently, “It isn’t safe for you to stay here in L.A. right now. Just take a week or two off,” Jensen got off of him and turned his back but he finished his sentence, “and when I’m sure that it’s safe again, you can come home.”

The silence stretched between them and he could feel the tension rolling off Jensen’s shoulders, restrained anger boiling just beneath his skin.

“After all this, after that night in my apartment, after yesterday, after everything, you want me to _leave_?!” Jensen whirled around to face him, voice rising with each word.

“It’ll just be for-.”

Just like that, the band holding Jensen back, snapped.

 _“I DON’T CARE FOR HOW LONG!”_ Jensen boomed over him. “Dammit, Mish! What happened to neither of us suffering alone, huh?! We just talked about this, _YESTERDAY!_ Now, you throw this bullshit at me?!”

He rose to his feet, hands raised in surrender, and spoke in calm tones, “I just want you to be safe and out of harm’s way until I fix everything. If Rozanov is anything like his father, he is dangerous, and I want you as far away from him as possible.”

“Am I incapable of taking care of myself now? Is that it?” Jensen questioned him, eyes wild with fury. “Just because we’re together, or _whatever-the-fuck_ we are now, doesn’t mean I’ve magically lost the ability to handle myself, _Collins._ ”

He flinched at the use of his last name. Jensen only did that when he was unbelievably upset with him.

“No, _Ackles_ , that isn’t what this is. This is me being concerned for your safety.”

Jensen threw his hands his hands up and scoffed, then turned and strode towards the door.

“Where are you going?”

 _“Out.”_ He snapped back and slammed the door closed behind him.

He sank down on the couch and listened to the dull thud of Jensen’s boots descend the steps and the roar of his truck’s engine when he tore out of the driveway.

_Dammit._

* * *

 

“So,” Jared began, handing him another beer across the scratched table, “you decided you could go for a drink after all.” His tone screamed suspicion but he didn’t press forward at the moment.

“Yep.” He grunted and tipped the bottle back, downing half the malty drink in one go.

Their conversation was limited to Jared trying to get him to say more than three words at a time, and him communicating back through grunts and noncommittal noises.

“Alright, dammit,” Jared said, snatching his fourth beer from his grasp and setting it out of his reach, “something’s eating your ass and it isn’t currently Misha, so what gives?”

He gave him a scathing look, but didn’t answer.

_If looks could kill…_

Jared gave him a level stare, “Or is it him?”

He made a grab for the beer, only to have his hand slapped away.

“What happened?”

Giving up on his beer recovery mission, he sighed and looked down at his hands.

“We had a fight.” He wasn’t proud of the way he’d lost his temper earlier, but he had a right to be pissed.

Right?

“Tell me about it.” His friend replied, sliding him back his beer again.

Jensen picked at the label for a minute, gathering his thoughts, grateful that Jared, for once, was being patient.

“This case we’re on… it’s big, and the main player in this is dangerous, probably more so than any of the regular kingpins that run around down here.”

He paused for a moment, sparing his friend a glance, “Mish wants me to go see Mom and Dad while this raid goes down. ‘For my safety’, he said.”

Jared seemed perplexed by the idea as well, but then again, he only knew half the story. “Why is he suddenly so worried about your safety? You two have been on dozens of raids before, what makes this one so different?”

The answer hung on the tip of his tongue like a lead weight, but he pushed it away. He might be mad, but that wasn’t his story to tell.

“For reasons I don’t have the authority to explain.”

Jared seemed understand from that point, and effectively dropped the subject after that.

~~

He’d lost count of how many beers he’d had, but he could certainly feel the alcohol working through his system when Jared clapped a hand on his shoulder and announced his departure.

“You be careful man.” He slurred. “The blonde at the end of the bar looks like she’s ready to eat you alive.”

With that, his giant friend loped off and left him alone at their table.

He wanted to go _home._

The knowledge that home no longer meant his empty apartment settled over him heavily, but he was willing to accept it.

Home was blue eyes and dark hair. Home was strong arms and reliable hands. Home went on insanely early morning runs and drank tea hot enough to scald. Home could make or break his day so easily…

Misha was home.

But home was _pissed._

He’d ignored the voicemails and deleted the texts after reading them once, twice, ten times. He’d ignored the, _‘come back so we can talk’, ‘I should have thought it through more’,_ and the most heartbreaking one…

_‘The bed is too empty without you here.’_

He wanted home, but he had to stand his ground. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

In his drunken sulking, he didn’t notice the blonde approach him until she was already sitting down across the table. She looked somewhat familiar, but couldn’t place her.

_I really need to start paying attention more._

“You looked a little… lonely.” She told him in a thick accent, tapping her long nails against the tabletop, and giving him a cool smile.

Distantly warning bells were going off in his head, but he was far too intoxicated to acknowledge them.

He didn’t respond to the statement, just stared openly at his new companion, wondering why the hell she decided on him.

_Tonight, of all nights, too._

She was pretty, sure, with her platinum blonde hair and dark eyes, but something about her threw him off.

“ _Talia_ , my name is Talia. Thank you for asking.” She sneered. “Tell me, what is a gorgeous man like you, sitting alone in a place like this, hm?

He held up the empty beer bottle in his hand, the answer being pitifully clear.

“Drinking.”

She eyed the bottle with distaste and gave him another one of her cool smiles.

_Creepy… wait a minute._

“I ran into you earlier.” He accused dumbly, the memory fuzzy in his mind. He’d been so excited earlier that he had barely even registered her face, but this was definitely the same woman.

“You did.” She responded, grabbing his bottle and twirling it on the tabletop.

“Why are you here?” He asked, watching her run a finger across the lip of the bottle.

“I was hoping… that maybe I could get a better apology.”

“Yeah, let me buy you a drink then.”

“No, глупый мальчик, an _apology_.” she pushed the bottle back towards him and ran a finger down the length of his arm. He felt dirty and disgusting as she trailed it back up again. This woman gave him the creeps, _big time,_ and here she was propositioning him!

His brain was screaming _‘abort mission!_ ’ at him and he decided that it would be a good idea to listen.

“Sorry sweetheart, but I’ve got someone waiting for me back at home. Granted, they’re pissed at me, but they’re still there.”

He took one last swig from his beer and got up from the table, making his way to the bartender to pay his tab, then heading out into the cooling night air. There weren’t any cars left in the small parking lot except his as he swayed his way to his vehicle

He was unlocking the truck when the first wave hit him, and he immediately felt clammy and dizzy, swaying on his feet unsteadily.

_Son. Of. A. Bitch._

He stumbled forward and crashed hard into the driver’s side door, sliding down to meet the pavement with a heavy thump. He scrambled the best he could to reach for his phone, but his movements were too slow.

Long, manicured nails plucked the phone from his grasp and tossed it on the ground, and he watched helplessly as the screen shattered into a million pieces when a sharp heel stomped on it.

“I think you misunderstood me, _Jensen._ ” Talia said sweetly above him, her voice fuzzy in his head, and her accent so thick he could hardly understand her words. His vision blacked out right as his brain registered her last sentence.

_“I’m going to get my apology, one way or another.”_

* * *

 

Misha groaned as the first rays of sunlight peaked through the curtains, announcing that another day had, unfortunately, arrived.

_At least it’s Saturday._

He reached blindly behind him, seeking the warm body that normally lay next to him, but found cool bedspread under his fingers instead.

The events of the previous night came crashing back down on him, causing him to curse his stupidity again.

He threw an arm over his eyes and groaned again.

~~

_“We’re sorry, the number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. Please hang up and try again.”_

“What the hell?” He asked the empty house over his morning tea.

_That wasn’t Jensen’s voicemail box._

Perturbed and confused, he headed back upstairs to throw some clothes on. He was going to make this right, even if it killed him to admit he was wrong.

The drive to Jensen’s was short, mostly due to his bending of the speed limit, but Misha didn’t care. He wanted to make things right again.

First problem, Jensen’s truck wasn’t in his driveway.

Second, no one answered the door when he rang the doorbell. He beat his fist against the smooth oak and called his partner’s name loudly, but all with no answer.

When he tried the doorknob it opened easily, having never been locked in the first place.

Misha stepped over the threshold lightly and surveyed the surroundings. Everything seemed in perfect order, just as it was when he’d been here last, but something unsettled him.

He didn’t find Jensen in the kitchen, or the living room, there were no signs of him in the guest room, or anywhere downstairs for that matter. Misha trudged up the stairs and into the master bedroom, finding the bed perfectly made and everything in its place. His partner wasn’t passed out in the bathroom, or drunkenly sun tanning on the balcony either.

Starting to panic, he went back downstairs and did another sweep of everything, but still no sign of Jensen.

He was pacing through the hallway when something caught his eye on the living room table. A manila file folder and a small black cell phone sat on the very edge, taunting him.

_Jensen has another phone?_

Rounding the corner of the couch, he picked both items up and opened the folder. Dozens of photos fell from it, fluttering to the floor all around him. He set the phone back on the table and crouched to pick the photos up but stopped midway.

The pictures were of him and Jensen.

Pictures of a case they worked earlier that year, of them exiting a bar after a long night of celebrating, of them at the office throwing paper wads at each other, of the night of their first kiss…

Photo after photo, documenting their every movement, scattered like shards of broken glass around his feet, and he could do nothing but stare dumbly at each and every one of them.

The phone skittered across the table, vibrating with the notification of an incoming call.

The screen flashed, **_ANSWER ME!!_** A dozen little emoji icons surrounding the two incriminating words.

Carefully, Misha picked it up and answered, “Hello?”

The voice on the other end of the line made his blood run cold and he sat back, frozen in horror.

_“Dmitri! So good to hear from you again.”_

Fear and fury swept over him and he could barely manage to choke out his response, his heart stuck in his throat.

“Rozanov.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Dramatic music* And so it begins...  
> Edit: I forgot to put the translation in here. Oops. глупый мальчик - silly boy  
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> ~K


	15. Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of POV switches. (Sorry not sorry.) Disclaimer: I do not speak Russian. Google Translate and Promt are to blame if it's wrong and translations are at the bottom.  
> Trigger warning: torture.  
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K  
> Beta: rieraclaelin

His heart thudded heavily in his chest as he listened to Rozanov cackle on the other end of the line.

“Where. Is. Jensen?” He asked, voice taut.

_“Safe. Well, safe as one can be in the hands of my sister. She can have a bit of a temper. From what I hear, he has pretty voice, maybe she can get him to sing for her when he wakes.”_

He growled into the receiver, the mention of Jensen being harmed setting him further on edge, “You lay so much as a finger on him and I’ll rip you apart.”

_“Tsk, tsk. You are in no place to be making such threats, **друг**. One word from me and Talia will slit your lover’s throat like hot knife through butter. If you do not want him cut up and in box on your front door step, find him.”_

Misha knew it was a trap. Mendev knew he knew it was a trap.

Mendev also knew that he was coming for him no matter what.

_“That’s pretty name plate on your desk. Inaccurate though from what I hear. You do not go by Krushnic anymore. Why is that? Still trying to run from what you cannot escape? You have two hours,_ **_брат_ ** _, make them count. Bring anyone with you, tell anyone what’s happening, and he suffers the consequences.”_

He was on his feet, tearing out of Jensen’s apartment and in his truck before Mendev could finish his last sentence.

~~

Misha’s truck tires squealed loudly against the pavement of the precinct parking lot, but he paid no mind, throwing it in park and rushing inside.

Thankfully, he ran into no one on his way through the precinct.

The glass of the Narcotics division door rattled dangerously when he flung it open, causing it to slam against the wall. He skidded to a stop in front of his desk, noting that his name plate was missing and in its place was a red envelope.

He tore the envelope open, tossing it aside when he got to the paper inside. In long, messy script the note read, _‘They say killers always go back to the scene of the crime. I started so small here. Go back to my beginning.’_

Shoving the paper in his pocket, he stepped around the corner of his desk and ripped open the second drawer that held all his case files. He thumbed through them quickly, finding the dead woman’s file easily, and scouring it for the address.

Address secured, he loped his way back to his truck, plugging it into the GPS on his phone and leaving the parking lot just as quickly as he had arrived.

* * *

 

Consciousness was slowly coming back to him, and the world still looked just as blurry and distorted as when he’d left it. He groaned loudly at the migraine that settled in behind his eyes, pulsing at his temples and making his vision spin.

**“Роз! Любитель бодрствует.”**

Jensen could just barely hear the female voice’s words being said through the cotton-like feeling in his ears, and he groaned again when a harsh light was shone in his eyes. He tried to move away from it or at least cover his eyes, but found his arms hindered.

Memories of the day before flooded him, snapping him back to the reality at hand in near painful clarity. His vision and hearing cleared sharply, leaving him to gape at his new surroundings.

He hung upright in the middle of an open, dusty room, which he presumed used to be someone’s living room. The room lacked a significant amount of furniture, a chair and moldy couch being its only adornments. Outside, he could hear the roar of waves crashing against one another in the sea and seagulls calling to each other.

Above him, his arms were cuffed around a long, rotting wooden beam connected to the low ceiling, leaving them aching and strained while his toes barely scraped the floor. He tugged hard on the restraints, hissing when the cold metal of the cuffs dug into the skin of his wrists.

_The irony of having your own cuff used on you is no longer funny._

He pulled again, earning a small creak from the beam but nothing more.

_Not good._

The floor protested under someone’s feet behind him, making him stop and stiffen up.

“It is good to see you are awake, **товарищ**. I was beginning to wonder if my dear sister had killed you.”

He would be hard pressed to say he was surprised when he came face-to-face with the blonde-haired asshole that was Rozanov Mendev.

The bastard was everything his file claimed and then some. Tall, blonde hair, dark eyes, and a jagged scar, yeah this was definitely Mendev. The man had the audacity to even wear a _suit._ Arrogance all but oozed from his pores.

_“Sister?”_ He spit accusingly towards him. He’d never heard of Rozanov having a sister and Misha hadn’t ever mentioned it either.

“That would be me, гений.” Talia snapped as she came around to stand beside her brother.

Standing next to each other, one could see the resemblance, the sharp angle of their noses, the shock of blonde hair and dark eyes, it was almost as if they were…

“Twins.”

_Oh that’s just great._

* * *

 

_'Go back to my beginning.'_

The words had rung clear in his head as Misha cautiously crept his way through the warehouse they'd found the dead woman in, gun drawn and ready. He’d checked every corner and every isle of shelves as he made his way across the damp concrete.

Sitting in the middle of where a body once lay, was another red envelope.

He’d torn it open and read its contents quickly.

_‘You've found my beginning. Oh, how far I will go.... It's not every day that you get to kill a narcotics detective. Let’s have a little chat...’_

Now, with shaky fingers, he punched in the number scrawled on the bottom of the page and waited.

* * *

 

Jensen’s entire body was covered in sweat and screamed in pain. The amount of blood loss was beginning to make him dizzy. He could feel parts of his face swelling from where Rozanov had laid into him earlier, blow after blow being landed on all sides of his face.

That was the least of his worries now, though. Talia was circling around him, a wickedly sharp blade in her hand, and having a grand time slicing wherever she saw fit.

He’d already lost count of how many she’d carved across his back, leaving thin lines to leak blood at a steady pace. There were currently three across his chest, but they were shallow enough to have already clotted. His wrists were raw and probably also bleeding from the amount of strain he’d put on them jerking around, trying to escape the edge of Talia’s blade.

He hissed when she drew another line across his left shoulder blade.

“Tell me something, _princess_. Do you get off on this?” He panted out.

He could hear her giggle as she circled back around again, stopping in front of him, “Yes. You have such pretty face and voice, it is nice to wreck them both.”

She tapped the end of the bloody blade against his nose and gave him a nasty smile, before announcing, “I need break.”

With that she flounced out of the room, returning a few moments later with two water bottles. Even though he knew neither were for him, he still silently wished one of them was. He could feel dehydration setting in.

She cracked one open and took a healthy swig from it, eyes glinting maliciously as she did so.

Once she finished off the rest of the first bottle, she opened the other and paced around behind him. With a harsh yank on his hair, she forced his head back, causing the muscles in his neck, shoulders, and back to scream.

“You are filthy and we are expecting guests. Have bath.”

His reaction time wasn’t fast enough, and he found himself choking and sputtering as the entire bottle was upended onto his face.

Talia released her grip on his hair and let his head fall forward as he coughed the majority of his lungs out.

Distantly, he could hear a phone ringing….

* * *

 

Rozanov picked up on the third ring and Misha could hear someone coughing wildly in the background.

_“You are getting closer I see. Tell me, is floor still stained from girl’s blood?”_

He was past the point of impatience, “Stop playing games Rozanov. Where are you?”

_“You did not answer my question, Dmitri. That was very rude. Your partner will pay for that.”_

“Don’t you touch-!” His command was cut short by a pained roar on the other end of the line. His grip on the phone became dangerously tight as he cringed at the sound.

Misha was positive the memory of Jensen’s scream would be forever seared into his mind and haunt his every dream from then on.

_“You will be relieved to know that was not my doing. Talia took the honor of sinking pocket knife into his shoulder. Now, my question. Answer it.”_

He exhaled slowly through his nose, trying to level the tone of his voice, “Yes. It is still stained and probably always will be.”

**_“Отлично!”_** He could hear shuffling and some unidentifiable noise in the background.

The noise became a little clearer for a short moment, and he could hear the call of seagulls before Mendev was sighing into the receiver and distorting the noise.

_Wait. Seagulls?_

Seagulls only flocked a certain area of L.A. this time of year because of the surplus of available food in that area, and Misha knew exactly where.

_“…find third clue. When you do there will be address. Find the house that reminds you of childhood.”_

He hung up the phone and sprinted back to the exit of the warehouse, throwing himself back into his truck, again. Reaching across the cab, he popped open the glove box and dug around for the map inside.

Finding it, he shook it and flipped it open, waving away the cloud of dust that plumed off from it. He traced his way down the old California roadmap until he found the area he was after.

He put the address into the GPS and checked the time. He had 56 minutes to get there and the route estimated it would take an hour and fifteen.

_Not today it won’t._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations: (They should be in order of appearance as well.)  
> друг - friend  
> Роз! Любитель бодрствует. - Roz! The lover is awake.  
> гений - genius  
> товарищ - comrade  
> Отлично! - Excellent!
> 
> What do you guys think of Talia? Love her, hate her, don't really care either way? Let me know!  
> ~K


	16. Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K  
> Beta: rieraclaelin

Misha broke every speed limit between that warehouse and the bay, his foot heavy on the accelerator and his caution lights flashing brightly. He would be eternally grateful that he missed the first wave of rush hour traffic, too. He’d earned more than a few indecent gestures and probably had the police called on him at least once.

He rolled down the streets closest to the bay, examining each of the houses thoroughly.

 _“Find the house that reminds you of childhood.”_ He quietly echoed the words.

He grew more and more frustrated with each passing building, the strain of time taking a toll on him.

His heart leaped when his eyes finally landed on the right house.

All the houses in the area were relatively undamaged, but this one stood out like a sore thumb.

It was old and rotting, parts of the roof were caving in and it was missing a front door. The front steps were broken and missing, and quite a few of the windows looked awfully close to shattering.

What caught his eye and convinced him that this was the house, was the dirt covered red flag staked out in the middle of the yard.

Back when he was a child, a red flag was staked in the middle of a family’s yard when their little boy was abducted by Siyan. One flag for every child. It was always a symbol of mourning, and two had been staked in his own yard when he and Sasha had been taken.

He parked the truck in the driveway and got out, pulling his gun from his waistband. The steps protested loudly under his feet when he ascended them and crossed the threshold.

His pulse went into overdrive when he finally spotted his partner.

Jensen hung shirtless and bloody with his head bowed low, his hands cuffed on the beam above him. His head snapped up at the sound of Misha approaching, whose jaw was clenching dangerously tight from the sight of his battered face. Purple and blue bruises bloomed across his cheekbones and jaw, one eye starting to blacken and swell, and blood trickled slowly from his split lip. Long, diagonal lines split the skin of his chest and he could see where blood had seeped down his front from the wound in his shoulder.

Jensen looked dangerously pale and in an extreme amount of pain.

Just as he was stepping forward to help his partner, a familiar face emerged from the shadowed corner, sidling up behind Jensen.

"Drop the weapon."

Rozanov laced a hand through his partner's hair and jerked his head back, allowing him to struggle for a second before pressing the cold steel of a knife to his exposed neck. Misha clicked on the safety of his gun, laid it on the ground and kicked it away from him.

When he continued to struggle, Mendev leaned over Jensen's shoulder, a cold sneer forming across his face as he spoke to him directly next to his ear, accent curling thickly through the air.

"Careful now, **мальчик**. I would love to have my turn at carving you up right here and now, but I have important business to attend to with our friend here. So, behave." He added a little more pressure, chuckling when Jensen grunted and blood welled up across the surface of the knife. "Let that be warning to both of you."

Mendev's eyes finally flicked to his, sick amusement swirling in their dark depths. He stayed behind Jensen as he addressed him.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't father's runaway soldier. He sends his regards. I've heard many stories about you Krushnic. It's nice to finally meet boy who got away."

"I went to visit your brother, Sasha wasn't it? Only to find he was already six feet under, having taken coward's way out. No matter to me, though. One less Krushnic to erase."

His skin felt too tight, like he was going to split at the seams from the sheer amount of pure, unadulterated fury roaring inside him. Fear for his partner wrapped its sharp tendrils around his heart, its vice-like grip squeezing a little harder with every hammered heartbeat.

Mendev released his grip on Jensen and circled around him slowly, pointing the bloodied end of the knife towards Misha as he spoke.

"I'll give you credit though, you're very hard man to find. Once I'm done here with you and pretty boy partner," He paused for a moment to drag the tip of the knife down Jensen's cheek, drawing more blood and a low growl from Misha,

"I'll track down your sister, then find your mother's grave and pay my respects as well."

He diverted his attention to Jensen's face for a moment, finding the man to be smiling weakly at him, eyes distant and glassy. His expression was painfully blank. Another bolt of fear speared through him as he realized what was happening.

Jensen was trying to say goodbye.

Despite the emotion threatening to strangle him, his voice remained low and calm as he spoke.

 **“У Ад есть какая-либо идея, каким Адом Ты собираетесь литься на себя?” (“Do you have any idea what kind of Hell you’re about to rain down on yourself?”)** He asked sharply, taking a small step forward, pointing to Jensen.

Mendev flinched at the words rolling off his tongue in his native language.

"At your mercy is the one thing in this world that I care to live for anymore, the one thing I love more than anything in this world. You're threatening the one person on this planet that has _ever_ given a damn about me after what your **ублюдок**  father did to me."

He chose to ignore how Jensen's eyes momentarily widened at the declaration, and dropped his arm, clenching his hand into a tight fist.

"If you kill that man, I swear to you on my brother's grave, that I will track you down to the ends of the earth, and I will kill everyone and everything you hold dear. I will take everything from you and leave you alive to suffer through it."

The color was beginning to drain from Mendev’s face, and he took another step forward.

"You kill that man, and you'll have to deal with the monster that comes back to life. Are you ready for that? Are you ready to deal with a monster with not a shred of conscience, no soul, no purpose, except for making sure your remains are fed to your own dogs?"

 **"Ты готов встречать дьявола?** **Поскольку Ты собираетесь. Поскольку Вы собираетесь. (“Are you ready to meet the Devil? Because you are about to.”)**

"If you kill him, make damn sure that you've made peace with whatever **бог** you worship, because I'll shred you apart and meet your soul in the darkest depth of **ад** just to start all over again."

His words rang out with a tone of harsh finality, and the air hung heavily between them. Jensen stared wide eyed and silent over Rozanov’s shoulder, a thousand thoughts and emotions flickering through them.

The main two emotions being absolute adoration and fear.

Rozanov stepped away from Jensen and tossed the knife aside, leaving it to clatter loudly against the floor.

“Fine.” He spat at him. “We settle this while lover boy watches, then I carve his heart out while light leave your eyes. It’ll be last thing you ever see.”

With ice in his heart, he nodded and bent to untie his boots. Toeing both of them off, he shed his shirt as well.

Misha paused and took a deep breath, stepping back into a distant version of himself. A version he’d hoped to never see again. He could practically hear the bells of the compound, the pained cries and whimpers of the little boys, and the harsh Russian commands being shouted at them.

He stepped into what he never wished to be.

_A killer._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> мальчик - boy  
> Ад - Hell  
> ублюдок - bastard  
> Бог - God
> 
> Let me know what you think!  
> ~K


	17. Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: graphic violence  
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K  
> Beta: rieraclaelin

The wood floor was rough and dry under Misha’s feet, undoubtedly sticking splinters into the pads of his toes and heels. He watched indifferently as Mendev mimicked him, shedding his shoes and shirt as well. He studiously avoided looking to where Jensen was still hanging, knowing that it might very well be the last time he’d get the chance.

His death didn’t scare him, but Jensen’s did. Misha would fight for him until his dying breath if that’s what it took.

“Just like old times, hm? Only no trainer to keep you from death.” Rozanov told him maliciously.

Misha was sure that he was trying to distract him from the other person coming up from behind him, but he was entirely unsuccessful, he could feel the slight shift of air behind him. He waited up until the very last second to catch Rozanov’s twin by surprise.

He spun and caught Talia’s arm as it was coming around, slamming his fist into the underside of her jaw. The breath in her lungs left her in a rush as he let her drop limply to the floor, eyes rolling to the back of her head. She slumped into an inelegant heap at his feet, out cold.

_So much for settling this like men._

Turning to the remaining twin, he squared his stance and brought his hands up, waiting.

**“Приезжайте сюда Ты ублюдок.” (Come here you bastard.)** He spat at him.

With a furious roar, Rozanov charged at him, throwing fists his way in rapid succession. He managed to dodge the first two, but got caught by the third in the cheek. Pain radiated outwards from it but he pushed on, elbowing Rozanov once, twice, before earning a dizzying head-butt for his trouble.

Stunned, he could feel hands grabbing his shoulders, and throwing him sideways. He crashed over the couch, his leg catching the top of it just hard enough to cause it to tip over. Through the dust cloud he could see Mendev’s leg swinging towards him, and with a hearty grunt he rolled away and to his feet.

Blood rushed loudly in his ears and his heart pounded erratically as he brought his fists up again.

Deflecting another blow to the face, he returned one to the Russian’s solar plexus, kneeing him in the nose when he doubled over, then kicking him in the stomach, sending him back.

Rozanov stumbled and slammed into the window behind him, shattering the fragile glass. He growled as it showered around him and pulled a shard from his shoulder before charging at Misha full on.

The force of his body weight against Misha’s sent them flying backwards and through the wall, drywall and insulation giving way under them. A large chunk of drywall buried itself deep in his back, a few inches above his right kidney.

They landed, dust covered, into the next room. The floor caved in under Misha’s back. His lungs burned from the dust filling them, causing him to cough violently as he crawled slowly out of the hole and away from Rozanov.

Faintly, his brain registered a loud crash from the other room through the pain radiating through his body.

He was just catching his breath when Rozanov delivered a kick to his stomach, then another to his face, forcing him onto his back. He could hear bones cracking in his face and ribs, feel the blood pour from his nose, and stars danced before his eyes for a brief moment. Sharp pains shot like lighting through his entire body, worsening with every breath.

His air supply was cut off suddenly by a heavy foot on his throat. He jerked, scrabbled and clawed at Mendev’s leg, trying to gain some sort of leverage, his vision dimming around the edges.

“Should I get whip? Heel the almighty Krushnic and turn him into good little soldier?” Mendev cackled above him.

_Jensen… I’m so sorry…_

* * *

 

His wrists were on _fire_.

He watched, horrified, as Misha and Mendev crashed through the wall, and swung even harder.

Jensen heaved himself forward and back, trying his damndest to gain momentum. He could feel blood streaming down his arms from his wrists and his entire body ached, but he pressed on.

He was swinging at a pretty decent rate by now, the beam above him creaking loudly. The sounds of Misha and Mendev fighting in the other room spurred him on further, and with a grunt he used his momentum and tossed his right leg over the beam.

He threw his other leg over the beam and hugged it tightly. Taking a deep breath, he threw all his weight downward, and _heaved_.

The rotting wood splintered under his weight and broke in two, snapping the chain connecting his cuffs as he fell. He hit the floor hard, pieces of wood clattering around him. The house groaned loudly at this loss and the roof shuddered precariously.

The world spun dangerously around him but out of the corner of his eye he could see something shiny laying on the floor.

_Misha’s gun._

He drug himself across the floor, over the wood, and towards the gun. The weight of it in his hand was familiar and almost comforting as he forced himself to his feet. He staggered across the room and into the next, blanching at the sight before him.

Misha was on his back clawing at Mendev’s foot, which was pressing down hard at the base of his throat. He clicked off the safety on the gun and took aim.

Just as he was firing, the world swayed on its axis again, causing him to collapse against the wall as the bullet whizzed through the air. Instead of the headshot he intended, the bullet landed in Mendev’s left flank. The gun fell from his hand and skittered through the hole in the floor.

The man fell with a howl, clutching at the wound.

He watched from his place against the wall, as Misha grabbed him by the hair and put him in a chokehold, squeezing with every ounce of energy he had left.

If the bloodied look of cold fury on his partner’s face didn’t send chills down his spine, his tone of voice did.

**“Я буду видеть Ад в Аду.” (I’ll see you in Hell.)**

The loud _crack!_ of Mendev’s neck snapping resounded throughout the room, as did the dull thud when his lifeless body hit the ground.

There was a beat of silence between them, the air completely stagnant, before Misha’s eyes were meeting his, the fear and worry in their blue depths clear. The man was covered head to toe in blood, dirt, and plaster, and was stepping towards him as if he was a frightened animal, hands raised in surrender.

Neither of them saw Talia until it was too late.

With a manic wail, she hurled herself at Misha, the knife in her hand going unnoticed until it was buried hilt-deep into his right abdomen. A pained yowl left him as he threw her off and fell to his knees.

She tumbled across the floor for a brief moment, then shot to her feet again, staggering towards Jensen.

Despite the fact his body was still screaming in pain and he was weak with dizziness, he scrambled towards the nearest available weapon, which happened to be a piece of shattered glass from the window in the next room.

He gripped the jagged edges and rolled to his feet, facing Talia.

She flicked the pocket knife she’d sunk into his shoulder earlier open, her chest heaving and eyes wild.

_“I’m going to enjoy killing you.”_ She told him, her anger causing the words to come out so heavily accented he could hardly understand them.

Adrenaline surged through his veins and he stood a little straighter and a little more focused than before, ready to take her on.

She sprinted at him, knife clutched tightly, swinging wide and wild. He dodged them, stepping back from each one. She swiped right, he dived left; she swung up, he ducked.

Around and back through the living room they danced.

Jensen saw his only window of opportunity as she stepped towards him, swinging the knife left in a wide arc. He deflected the blow with his arm, barely flinching when the edge sliced through the muscle of his forearm, and plunged his shard of glass forward.

The edge pierced the skin of her stomach, just above the navel, and he pushed it further, forcing the glass deeper. As she cried out, he could feel the jagged edge cutting into the meat of his palm, but he ignored it, forcing the glass upwards.

Warm, sticky blood flowed over his hand as the he drove it higher and higher, ripping the skin and muscle apart.

She clutched wildly at his shoulders, knife having been dropped earlier, and choked around the blood gushing through her mouth. He released the grip he had on her and watched impassively as she crumpled to the floor, eviscerated and heaving her last breath a room away from her brother.

_“Bitch.”_

Suddenly panicking, he ran for Misha, finding the man curled in on himself on the floor, the knife still stuck fast in his stomach. He searched Mendev’s pockets for a phone, and found one with a cracked screen that miraculously still worked. He dropped down beside Misha, rolling him on his back and putting his head in his lap while he bloodily dialed for an ambulance.

_“911, how can I direct your call?”_ A female voice answered.

“This is Detective Ackles, I’m requesting immediate backup and an ambulance, my partner and I are both severely hurt.”

_“Detective can you give me your location?”_

He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked down at Misha whose eyes were starting to slip closed, “Mish, baby, wake up, where are we? You need to tell me where we are.”

His partner mumbled off the address which he relayed to the woman on the phone.

_“Okay, sir, there’s an ambulance and squad car three minutes out. Can you-?”_

He cut off her question, hanging up the phone and tossing it aside.

He shifted so Misha was laying across his lap better, and tapped the side of his partner’s paling face, “Hey now, stay with me, okay? They’re on the way.”

Glassy blue eyes met his, focusing for a half second, “Jen…”

His name was barely a whisper on Misha’s dry, cracked lips, and it hurt him to hear it. “It’s okay. I’ve got you, just hang in there.”

Scared, he pushed a sweaty lock of hair from Misha’s face and started babbling in hopes of keeping his partner awake just a little longer,

“You were so stupidly brave today, and I am so damn proud of you. After all this, we're going to start a family, you and me. You know that? We're going to tie the knot and adopt a couple of kiddos and it's going to be great.”

His voice broke at the end of his sentence and Misha coughed violently in his arms, blood gurgling in his mouth. He turned his head and spit it out, whimpering pitifully.

Jensen could hear the sirens wailing not too far off by now.

“Just breathe baby, just breathe. I know it hurts, I know, but you're going to be just fine.” He ran a thumb across Misha’s bloodied cheekbone.

“Who else is going to be my date to goofball's wedding, huh?" His voice wavered as the adrenaline started to wear off and the first spikes of white hot pain came back to him, but he knew that he had to keep awake for just a little bit longer.

He got a breathy wheeze of a laugh, breath shuddering lightly, before Misha’s eyes were sliding closed.

He shook his partner, “Baby, wake up. Please don’t do this to me now. Not after all this.”

Tears were filling his eyes and blurring his vision as he shook him harder, calling his name,

_“Mish?? Misha?!”_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Show of hands, who doesn't like me right now? What did you guys think about the epic showdown?  
> Let me know!
> 
> ~K


	18. Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K

Jensen remembered the ambulance ride, the flashing lights, the loud wail of sirens, the thready pulse under his fingertips….

The EMTs tried time and again to pull his hand from Misha’s, but he’d always find a way to tangle their fingers again, refusing to leave his partner alone in his fight.

Which worked up until they arrived at the hospital. His hand was ripped away from Misha’s as soon as the ambulance doors were open.

He’d never seen that many doctors and nurses run down a hallway in all his life. They led the siege with Misha’s gurney, sprinting down the hall with extreme urgency.

Then all he could see were the strips of lights passing overhead, making him dizzy and disoriented again. People were shouting all around him when the first threads of consciousness started to slide from his grasp.

The nurse switching his mask for another leaned close to his ear, voice soft and reassuring, “Relax. You don’t have to fight it anymore.”

Her words soothed him and he let himself fade into the void.

~~

Voices, he could hear voices. Not clearly though. It was like they were set on a crossfade, dipping in and out of his hearing range.

“….took a hell of a beating… pull through, but not without scars….”

He wanted to open his eyes, he really did, but the darkness was so warm and comforting…

~~

The voices were a little clearer this time, or, more specifically, one voice.

_Jared?_

“…if you can hear me. They said you might be able to, so...  don’t even know what to say…. is locked up tight though… won’t even tell your parents…”

He wanted to ask why. He wanted to know where his partner was, but consciousness slipped from him once again…

~~

_One week later_

_Beep…beep…beep…_

The monitor hooked to Misha steadily _beeped_ away, reassuring Jensen as he shifted around in the bedside chair.

Jensen had ended up with a cheek fracture, two black eyes, and a concussion, and that was just his face. There were exactly twenty-four lacerations across his upper body, three being on his chest and the other twenty on his back, and the final one being on his arm. The stitches itched and pulled, he’d have scars and possible limited mobility of his right arm because of the pocket knife shoved hilt deep in his shoulder, and he didn’t exactly feel fresh faced, but he was a lot better off than his partner.

A partner that had been through six different surgeries and had coded twice while on the table. A partner that had a skull fracture, eight broken ribs, a collapsed lung, and had massive internal bleeding for quite some time.

A partner that had been in a coma ever since he’d lost consciousness in Jensen’s arms inside that hell house….

Misha’s face was still various shades of faded blues, blacks, and purples, but the swelling had finally gone down and was slowly healing, for which Jensen was grateful.  He shuddered at the memory of when he first snuck in here.

He’d gotten the room number off of Doctor Rayneir’s chart, unhooked himself from everything, and snuck out after the nurse made her two-in-the-morning stop by his room. It had been extremely dark when he first came in, so he didn’t see his partner until after he’d flipped on the light.

Jensen didn’t think he would have ever been able to describe Misha as small and frail, but that night in the hospital, he did. He’d kneeled beside the bed, clutched his partner’s hand and cried, begged, and pleaded for him to wake up.

Doctor Rayneir, a short and pretty red-haired woman with grey eyes, had found him an hour later, and brought him a chair. She quietly scolded him for leaving without telling anyone and giving his nurse, Angie, a heart attack, but patted his uninjured shoulder gently and let him stay.

That was a week ago now.

Ever since they found the two of them in that house, the case had been locked up tight. There was to be not even a peep about what had happened until after Misha was awake and well enough to give a statement to the captain. Jensen’s parents didn’t even know that he’d nearly been killed.

Jensen threw a glance towards the clock on the wall, and grimaced when it read 10:23am. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually slept for more than fifteen minutes at a time, or even the last time he ate for that matter.

His stomach let out a particularly loud grumble just as Jared and Genevieve walked in.

“I guess it’s a good thing we brought food, huh? You look like you need it.” Jared laughed and gestured to the takeout bag in his hand.

Jensen knew he looked like death warmed over right now, with a week and a half’s worth of beard across his face and the shower he’d taken yesterday in the hospital’s ensuite bathroom probably wearing off.

He rose from his chair and gave them both gentle hugs, trying to avoid pulling his stitches anymore. He eased himself back down into the chair and dug through the bag.

“Still nothing, huh?” Gen asked him quietly.

Jensen just shook his head somberly and opened one of the containers of General Tso’s chicken. He speared one with the plastic fork he found and was about to eat when something finally dawned on him.

“Our dinner.” He cast an apologetic look towards his best friend.

Tonight was the night he was supposed to take them out for dinner, and tonight was the night Jared was going to propose.

Before he could get caught up in the guilt, Jared waved him off.

“We have more important things to worry about than a restaurant reservation. Though the purpose of said reservation…” He squeezed Genevieve’s hand and dropped it.

The big man took a step forward before spinning on his heel and dropping on one knee. He pulled the navy box from his pocket and held it to where Gen could see.

“I said I wanted my best friend to be there for when I proposed to the love of my life, and, dammit, I meant it.”

He tossed a teary eyed look over his shoulder to where Jensen was still sitting, tearing up himself, and smiled.

“Gen, you are the best thing to ever walk into my life. From the moment I saw you, I knew I’d be ruined for anyone else. There is no one else more beautiful, kind, and loving than you on this planet. There is no one else that I want, more than anything, to be my wife. So, Genevieve Cortese, will you do me the greatest honor,” He paused and pinched open the lid of the box, “of becoming my wife?”

There was a squeal and a blur of motion in front of them and both Jared and Gen were on the ground in front of him.

“Yes, you giant doof.”

Jensen beamed down at the pair, immensely happy for the both of them, before shooting another look towards his partner. For a fleeting moment, he expected to be greeted with sparkling blue eyes, but, sadly, the situation remained.

Misha still wasn’t awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!
> 
> ~K


	19. Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K  
> Beta: rieraclaelin

It had been quiet for a while now.

Well, as quiet as it could be in a hospital room, with the bustle of nurses outside and the monitor behind him steadily beeping.

As he slowly regained feeling in his body, he was aware of a few things.

One, his entire body felt like he’d been run over by a train and then thrown into a trash compactor.

Two, he couldn’t quite move or open his eyes yet.

Three, he could feel a thumb running across his knuckles lightly, almost… soothingly.

He didn’t panic though, just simply laid there and listened to the heart monitor and let himself be soothed by the rhythmic drag of a calloused thumb across broken and bruised knuckles.

The silence was broken not too long after he awoke.

“There’s so many things I want to tell you, but I’m scared to.” Jensen’s voice was gruff, probably from lack of sleep.

“I'm scared of everything. I'm scared of what I saw, I'm scared of what I did, of who I am, and most of all I'm scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life the way I feel when I'm with you.”

There was a long pause, before Jensen let out a small huff of laughter.

“Way to go, Ackles. You just quoted a damn Swayze movie.”

Fingers lightly squeezed his and for a moment, he wanted to squeeze them back, but he couldn’t. It didn’t matter though, Jensen needed to get this out and he was going to listen.

“It’s true, though. Words can’t describe how terrified I was when you walked into that house. I just knew that’s where we’d both die, but my death didn’t matter. I-It was yours.” Jensen’s voice broke on the last sentence and he could feel his own heart hurt.

“A life without you… I wouldn’t make it, Mish. I spent the last five years hiding my feelings, because I thought you’d never feel the same. Then, everything changed. I had never felt so alive…”

He trailed off, sniffling a little.

“That night, when I was taken, I had it all planned out. I was going to tell you, I was going to finally man up and tell you that I loved you with every fiber in my being; and, that I wanted to start a real relationship with you where we could be happy together.”

Another sniffle.

“I was so stupid. I should have listened to you and not taken off like that.”

“I j-just wanted t-to p-prove myself.” Jensen was really crying now, voice hitching on every few words.

He couldn’t stand it, he needed to open his eyes, but he just couldn’t get his body to cooperate. It hurt so bad to hear his partner, his lover, his everything to be this upset, and not be able to do anything about it.

Suddenly, the dam seemed to break and Jensen was weeping beside him

“M-Mish, baby, p-please,” Jensen clutched at his hand with both of his, small pained noises interrupting his sentence, “please wake up. I love y-you s-so much. Pl-please, I ca-can’t do this wit-without you.”

He could feel Jensen lay his head beside his arm and shake as sob after sob wrecked him and he worked frantically to try to regain control of something, anything, so he could let Jensen know he was awake and alive.

Sadly, he couldn’t. Not yet.

Slowly, the sobs subsided, leaving Jensen’s breath to hitch every so often before finally settling out to a deep and even pace, indicating that exhaustion had finally taken over and his partner was now fast asleep beside him.

Pulling the last reserves of energy and strength he had left, Misha squeezed Jensen’s hand back. Just barely, but it was there.

He may have fallen asleep right there with him but the squeeze held so much meaning and so much hope.

That barely-there pressure from his fingers said, _I’m right here. I’m alive and I’m not leaving you. I love you, too._

* * *

 

A few hours later, after his crying session, Jensen floated around the edge of consciousness, not quite awake yet, but not fully asleep anymore.

Fingers carded through his hair softly, just like his mother used to do when he would fall asleep in her lap as a child.

He curled into the touch for a moment, relishing in the feeling before snapping wide awake.

Blue eyes and a soft, wobbly smile greeted him when he sat bolt upright, and then he was launching himself forward, pulling Misha into his arms, surprisingly gentle given his excitement.

The tears came again, from both of them, but they were joyous, elated, and relieved tears. Nothing was said between them for quite a while, they just sat there, rocking back and forth, and sobbed together, clutching to one another as if they’d suddenly disappear from the other’s grasp.

Jensen was sure a nurse had already come and gone, reporting to Doctor Rayneir that her patient was finally awake, but he paid no mind. He had the love of his life wrapped safely, awake and alive, in his arms, and nothing was going to deter him from soaking up every moment he had with him.

Finally, the two pulled back, minimally, so they could see each other’s tear streaked faces.

“Mish, I…” He tried to begin, but the words were lost behind the lump of emotion lodged in his throat.

Misha gave him a small, shy smile and hugged him lightly, “I heard every word.”

His voice was rough and scratchy, but it was so damn good to hear it again.

There was so much more the both of them needed to say, but it would have to wait because their captain was coming through the door, dressed sharply in a crisp suit and tie.

They both straightened but didn’t bother separating or wiping the remnants of their tearful reunion from their faces either.

“Sir.” They said in their normal unison.

The captain took a seat in Jensen’s chair and sighed, “It’s good you two are awake and in working condition. Well, for the most part.” He gestured to Misha’s still bruised face and Jensen’s stitched arm.

“I won’t lie to you, boys. We found a hell of a mess in that house and you both gave us a scare, especially you Collins.” Misha nodded, looking somewhat guilty, to which Jensen tightened his grip around him in response.

“You’ll both have to give statements and fill out a mountain of paperwork, and once the media gets a hold of this, it’ll be a nightmare; but, that being said… you both did damn fine work out there.”

“With the Rozanov twins out of the picture, the drug operation collapsed almost instantly and the raid was a complete success. If those two hadn’t of been taken down when they were, I don’t believe the raid would have gone smoothly and we would have walked away with more casualties than rewards. They were running an operation bigger than anything we’d ever seen before, but we have the payroll of everyone involved in the business.”

The surly man stood and dug around in the pocket of his suit jacket and tossed two gold badges on the bed beside them.

“You two saved countless lives the other day, and this is how the department and I want to thank you. So, congratulations gentlemen, you’ve both been promoted to Lieutenants. You both earned it.”

The pair stared, wide-eyed, at their captain for a few moments before uttering astonished “Thank you, Sir’s”

“Also, with that promotion comes the paid, two-week medical leave you two will be taking, on top of whatever Doctor Rayneir issues and the psych evaluation you will both be taking before you come back.”

Before protests could be formed, he was cutting them off with a stern glare, “No exceptions.”

He gave them both a small smile and a nod, then left without another word, leaving them to stare dumbly after him.

“Lieutenants, huh?” Misha asked softly as he reached over and picked up the golden badges.

He let out a breathless laugh and ran a finger over the raised letters, “Yeah, looks like it.”

Jensen gave Misha his with a soft, chaste kiss, and whispered against his lips, “ _Lieutenant Collins_ sounds kind of hot, actually.”

Misha laughed and he could see the workings of a blush creep up his neck, but he grew slightly somber for a moment and tilted his head to one side.

“Jensen… I need to know something.”

He nodded and motioned for him to continue, apprehension starting to work its way into his veins.

“What you said in the house and earlier…” Misha paused just long enough for Jensen’s heart to drop.

What if he’d scared him with his confessions?

“…was it true? Do you really want to tie the knot and have a family?”

He closed his eyes as relief flooded him.

“I meant every word.”

Misha beamed at him, and even though his face was still bruised and battered, it had to be the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Before he knew it, he was being pulled forward and being kissed, the heart monitor going wild behind them.

“I think I know what we’ll name them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this point, there should be three more chapters before TLWL is over! (Wipes away a single tear.)  
> Like this chapter? Let me know!
> 
> ~K


	20. Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K  
> Beta: rieraclaelin

They survived the barrage of reporters that had swarmed them as soon as they were given the go-ahead to release Misha from the hospital. The phone rang constantly, always another reporter or journalist or some kind of nosy bastard with all their _“Mr. Ackles, can you give your side of the story’s”_ and the _“Mr. Krushnic, can I get an official comment’s”._

It had been two weeks and Jensen was so sick of them.

Still though, it didn’t matter, he had more important matters to attend to, like an emotionally distraught partner.

Sometimes, Misha would stare off into space for long lengths of time, his face painted in some shade of abstract horror as memories of God knows what flitted through his blue eyes.

Others, Jensen would find him in the Blank Room, pacing and muttering quietly to himself in Russian with fists clenched tight, angry at the whole world.

He didn’t sleep much, either, tossing about throughout the night and always eventually giving up to go downstairs to read so he wouldn’t disturb Jensen anymore.

Jensen didn’t mind, he simply took care of his lover. He’d gently bring him back to reality when he sank too far into memories with soft kisses rained down on his face, coax him out of that awful white room with whispered praises of bravery, love, and adoration, or he’d crawl out of bed a few minutes after Misha left and curl up beside him on the couch, letting him know that he didn’t have to fight it alone.

So when he heard a crash come from the kitchen downstairs, he didn’t hesitate to go to Misha. He found his partner standing, stock still, in the kitchen with the remnants of a shattered coffee cup at his feet, his entire body tense. Jensen carefully stepped over the shards and wrapped his arms around Misha’s waist and waited, nuzzling into the back of his neck.

He peppered kisses across the wide expanse of Misha’s shoulders, trying to soothe the rigid muscles there, and, gradually, they relaxed under his attentive touch. Misha lifted his arms from where they had hung limply at his side tentatively and rested his hands on top of Jensen’s, squeezing them lightly in a silent thank you.

He led Misha carefully out of the kitchen and upstairs to his- no _their_ \- bedroom. With a chaste kiss and gentle command to stay put, he left his companion in the bedroom and trotted back downstairs to sweep up the hazardous glass littering the floor.

When that was done, he shot a quick text to Jared informing him that they were turning Misha’s landline off for a day or two, so they could get some peace from the near constant ringing, and grabbed two towels from the utility room.

He locked the front door, switched off the landline, and made sure the thermostat was set for the weekend then made another trek back upstairs.

Misha was in the same spot he’d left him in, expression mostly blank save the few traces of expectance in his eyes. Wordlessly, Jensen tugged him into the bathroom and stripped them both of their clothes.

Misha let him manhandle him, offered help when necessary, but, otherwise quietly followed Jensen’s every instruction.

They showered together and he seized the opportunity to express love and reverence through touch.

He lovingly traced every scar, old and new.

From the ones crisscrossing Misha’s back, to the new ones that curved around the left side of his ribcage, the one that now ran down the center of his chest, and few smaller ones that dotted his lower abdomen, he didn’t leave a single one out, pressing feather light kisses into each.

He didn’t mention that he could feel the muscles twitch, ever so lightly, under his touch or that he could feel the way his breathing hitched like it normally did when he tried to silently cry.

Jensen just let him do what he felt necessary.

After he tenderly washed the day off of Misha’s skin, they stood and soaked for a while, content to be near one another.

They didn’t need words and it didn’t have to be sexual, they were okay with just _being._ The pair stood, Jensen’s chest to Misha’s back and basked in the warmth of the water and other’s presence until it began to run cold.

When it did, Jensen shut off the water and dried them off. He made Misha sit on the toilet, towels slung low around both of their waists, while he gently combed through the tufts of damp, dark hair.

Misha watched him, blue eyes watery and red rimmed, with an expression of stunned adoration. It was almost like he couldn’t believe that someone would take the time to really and truly take care of him, to show him that he was worth care and love.

Jensen was determined to fix that, one way or another.

He combed his own hair and tossed the piece of plastic on the counter, then crouched in front of Misha. It was an awkward position, considering he had to keep one hand on his waist to keep the towel from slipping, but the way his partner turned his face into his palm when he rested it on his cheek was worth the shaky balance.

He ran a thumb tenderly across the fading bruises littering Misha’s cheekbones and jaw, and gave him a small smile.

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?” He asked him softly.

Blue eyes blinked slowly at him for a moment, then a nod was his reply.

The two left their towels in the bathroom and padded back into the bedroom. Jensen felt a surge of desire rush through his veins at the sight of his lover nude, all the tanned skin and muscle coupled with the dark ink on his thigh making his blood run hot, but he ignored it.

This wasn’t the time for something like that.

Instead, the pair climbed into bed and Jensen pulled him close, letting Misha rest his head on his chest while he carded fingers though the still drying strands of dark hair.

After a while, he could feel his partner’s breathing even out, steady and deep, and he relaxed a little further into the mattress, letting sleep overtake him as well.

~~

Jensen was startled awake by a fist to the jaw.

Instincts taking over, he rolled off the edge of the bed and into a defensive position on the floor before his eyes were even completely open.

Taking a quick survey of the room, he came to realize there were no threats in the room, just a 5’11” man in the throes of a vivid nightmare.

Misha was twisting and writhing on the bed, eyes screwed shut and hands tearing at the bedsheets. The expression of pain wasn’t what broke Jensen’s heart, it was the screams of outright _agony_ that emanated from the man’s lips.

Between the incoherent screams, he could make out begging that sounded close to a, “No! Please stop. Not him!”

_Not him._

The words rang clear as day throughout Jensen’s head and snapped him out of the trance he’d been in.

He sprang into action, vaulting over the edge of the bed and straddling Misha’s hips. The man screamed at his touch, causing Jensen to wince, but he pushed on, grabbing both of Misha’s wrists and trying to keep him from hurting himself any further.

If there was any doubt that Misha was an extremely strong man, it was immediately erased when he managed to snap wide awake in an instant and flip them both, painfully pinning Jensen to the bed with ease.

Any other time he’d be a little perturbed by the blow towards his masculinity, but right then, trapped and petrified under the man he loved dearly, he couldn’t find the capacity to care.

Misha’s eyes were wild and glazed, still trapped in the grip of a nightmare.

“Misha, baby, it’s me. You’re dreaming, sweetheart.” Jensen spoke loudly enough for Misha to hear him, but in a tone much calmer than he thought he could achieve, given the fact he wasn’t exactly comfortable.

“Mish, please, you have to wake up. Baby, you’re… you’re hurting me.” He hesitated over the last few words, not wanting to say them but knowing that they would be what brought him back.

Jensen hated that he was right.

Just as quickly as Misha had pinned him, he let go of him and was scrambling off the bed and pressing against the far wall.

All the breath in his lungs whooshed out of him and he lay there for a moment trying to regulate his breathing and heartbeat.

When he was sure he was okay, he sat up and crawled over to the edge of the bed. Misha was still pressed tightly against the wall, a look of horrified terror painted on his face. Jensen sat back on his heels and waited for a moment before extending a hand towards him.

Neither of them moved for what felt like an eternity, but Jensen had learned that patience was the best thing to have in a situation like this, but it paid off. Misha moved timidly towards him, taking each step carefully and slowly, before stopping a foot away from where Jensen sat.

There was a long, heavy pause between them, before whatever band that had been holding his partner back snapped.

Misha flung himself into open space of his arms and buried his face in the crook of Jensen’s neck and sobbed for all he was worth. Stuttered and hiccupped apologies fell from his lips in between heaving cries.

They rocked back and forth for a while until Misha’s breathing evened out enough where he could speak coherently.

“Jen…” Misha’s voice was broken and wavering, but he knew what he was trying to say.

Jensen shushed him and tipped his face up so they could see eye to eye.

For the second time in no more than twelve hours, watery blue eyes met green.

“What happened?”

The question is soft, hesitant, and patient.

He mentally cringed when he saw Misha’s full bodied shudder and the way he paled just a tiny bit more.

Misha swallowed hard and looked away for a long minute before speaking one stilted sentence.

“I wasn’t fast enough.”

That was all Jensen needed to know.

He pressed kisses against Misha’s skin, starting at his forehead and carefully making his way over both eyelids, his cheekbones, the bolt of his jaw, before finally ghosting one over his lips.

“You were fast enough, baby. You saved my life, both of our lives. Now, breathe… and let me thank you.”

He could see the beginnings of a protest start to form on Misha’s lips, but he quickly dove in and kissed them away, putting as much love and gratefulness he could possibly muster into it.

The second his fingers tangled into his hair, Misha practically melted against him, whimpering into his mouth and pressing up against him. They inched their way back onto the bed slowly, hands and lips never leaving each other. 

Once both of them were kneeling on the bed, Jensen guided his lover down on the pillows, kissing any protest that may have begun to form away again.

With their recent stint in the hospital, a more personal question was automatically answered, thus making their lives that much easier since they were both clean and now didn’t have to root around for a condom. So, Jensen only had to fumble with the nightstand drawer for a few seconds before he found the lube.

Prep was quick and dirty, filled to the brim with near frantic, sloppy kisses and filthy grinding against each other, but it was perfect for the situation at hand.

Jensen took the time to slow everything down before he made any sudden moves, though.

This wasn’t just sex for them this time. No, this was more, this was better.

This was… _everything_ for them.

This would soothe the pain of almost losing each other, close the distance that had grown between them since they left the hospital, and finally, _finally_ mark the beginning of a new life for the both of them.

With his eyes locked on Misha’s, he sank slowly until Misha was fully seated inside him, and the burn of being stretched just a bit too much felt amazing.

In unison, they groaned aloud when he began to rock gently, grinding his hips down sinuously.

As he continued to grind, praises fell from his lips like a prayer.

In between the sweet kisses he pressed on every inch of skin he could reach, he whispered things like, “So brave and beautiful… saved my life… I love you so much… thank you….”

His words brought back the hitch in Misha’s breath and he could feel the wet streaks of tears mix in with the sweat between their bodies, but he pressed on, grinding a little harder, kissing a little rougher, and trying to put as much love into every movement he possibly could.

When they came, it was together, Jensen whispering a litany of praise, adoration, love, and thank you’s, and Misha holding onto him for dear life.

After it was all said and done, both of them clean and lying on top of the bedspread tangled around each other, Jensen ran light fingers over his lover’s chest, tracing out senseless patterns.

“Jen?” Misha asked him quietly.

He raised up on one elbow and softly replied, “Yes, baby?”

His partner seemed to struggle for words for a few moments, but, as always, Jensen was patient with him, letting him take all the time he needed. Blue eyes searched his, as if he could find the words he wanted to say in them.

It was only after he began to trace a thumb over the planes of Misha’s face when the man actually spoke.

“Thank you, for everything.”

The smile that stretched across Jensen’s face was genuine. He surged forward and pressed another kiss to Misha’s lips.

“You are so very welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters to go! Is anyone else feeling sad to see it end?  
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> ~K


	21. Twenty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K  
> Beta: Rieraclaelin

He and Misha were due back at work next Monday, so he decided that he would go and spend the week before with his parents in Dallas. They’d been relieved to see him after watching their son be plastered across every media outlet available to the public in the last seven weeks. They twisted his and his partner’s names in every light possible. Good, bad, or ugly, they’d poked, prodded and analyzed every aspect of the case, stomped a mud hole in it and ran it completely dry.

Things were quieter now, much to his relief, and Misha seemed to get a little better every day. Even though he was more lively and much more himself these days, Jensen had been extremely hesitant to leave his partner for any extended period of time, but after being shoved out the door, literally, with his suitcase and duffle in tow, he went anyway.

He made a point to call every few hours and check up on Misha, though.

It was almost a routine thing to do by the third day. Jensen would wake up around nine am, fix himself a cup of coffee, and then call Misha. He could count on his lover to be up and answer in a growly, sleep rough voice, even if it was seven in the morning there in LA.

Around lunchtime he’d call again, and then once more before he retired to bed.

He’d almost been caught purchasing one of Misha’s gifts when the man called again, but he’d smoothly winked at the sales rep and placed a finger over his lips, signaling to be discreet for a few moments.

They talked about, well, everything.

From the new book that Misha had just finished and how awesome Jensen’s mother’s banana cream pie was, to more… _raunchier_ subjects.

The second night he’d called, Misha had answered the phone, but something was off.  His lover was out of breath and his voice seemed a little huskier than usual, immediately tipping Jensen off that something was wrong.

“Misha? Are you alright?” He’d asked worriedly.

A long, dark chuckle reverberated through the speaker.

“I take it you haven’t gotten the text yet.” Misha stated breathlessly.

He was going to ask what text he was talking about when the phone vibrated against his ear. Jensen nearly dropped it when the message loaded all the way.

The picture was of Misha’s cock, hard and dripping in the circle of Misha’s own hand.

Jensen made sure to lock the door to his hotel room and close the blinds tight that night.

Now with the sun beating down against his back, he wandered the streets of his hometown aimlessly. He checked the time on his watch and was nearly ready to head back when a gleaming storefront caught his eye. A smile spread across his face as he read the bold sweeping letters emblazoned across the glass and brick building.

~~~

There were scattered cheers and congratulations thrown at them when they walked into the precinct Monday morning, but otherwise it was a seemingly normal day.

That was until they arrived inside the Narcotics division.

Uproarious cheers, clapping, and fellow detectives banging on every available surface that would make noise, greeted them.

It dawned on him that not only were they coming back higher ranked than before, today was also the official anniversary of their five year partnership. Five years was a big deal, especially in their line of work.

He cast a look over to Misha before they were engulfed by their colleges and caught the hint of a tiny smile playing on his partner’s lips.

Most of their coworkers clapped them on the shoulders and passed them on to the next person, but a few stopped for hugs as well. Normally, Jensen wouldn’t mind the affection, hell he’d relish in it, but with every tight hug or clap on the arm, the fabric of his shirt or their hands would brush against the tender skin of his shoulder.

They were making it extremely difficult to keep the surprise up his sleeve, literally, just that, a surprise. He’d been careful the last two days, making up excuses to stay at his own place because he knew that he’d easily fall prey to those blue eyes, then the surprise factor for today would be shot.

He toughed it out, though, and then joined Misha on the other side of the throng.

Misha lovingly bumped his shoulder against Jensen’s, not missing the pain that flitted across his features. Before he could ask what was wrong, the captain was bellowing over the crowd to get back to work and calling the pair into his office.

Thus, the subject was dropped.

For now.

* * *

 

They’d agreed that morning that they would wait to give each other the gifts, and now, standing in his own living room with the last of the day’s sunlight streaming through the window it was both the best and worst time to do this.

His hands shook with nervousness, but, really, this would be the best opportunity he had.

Jensen stood a few feet away from him, fiddling with the label on the wine bottle they’d chosen for the night’s celebration, bathed in the golden light. When Jensen turned and gave him a slight smile, he was hit full on with the stunning visage. He practically glowed, freckles standing out on pale skin, green eyes shining like emerald jewels, and it was absolutely breathtaking.

After Jensen had left for Dallas, Misha had went out on a mission of sorts. His gift wasn’t hard to find, he’d seen it a hundred times. Every time he’d stopped to look at it, he knew exactly who he’d give it to, given the chance.

Now, with his partner-turned-lover staring at him with something that Misha might dare to call unadulterated love his hands shook a little less and his confidence boosted slightly.

“Shall we?” Jensen gestured to the bottle and he merely nodded in response.

With a bit of flourish, Jensen opened the bottle and poured two glasses of the light colored liquid, handing one of them to Misha.

“To five years!” They cheered together, clinking the edges of their glasses together before each taking a healthy sip. He took Jensen’s from him and set them both down, then cradled Jensen’s face in his hands.

 “Also, to many, many more, yeah?” He placed small, butterfly like kisses on his lover’s lips in between words.

He could feel a smile grace Jensen’s face and a tiny, “Yeah.”

The kiss they shared was a little more passionate this time, tongues dipping in and tasting the remnants of the sweet, crisp wine they shared. It was over all too soon for Misha’s liking, but they both knew that if they didn’t stop now, they’d be up to more rigorous activities instead of exchanging gifts.

They decided that they’d open the box from the precinct first.

It was covered in plain black wrapping paper and fairly sizeable, but surprisingly, didn’t weigh as much as it looked like it would. Misha let Jensen do the honors of tearing off the paper and opening the box, grinning at the pleased look on his face when he took the first object out.

It was a large plaque with multiple things scattered and mounted across it, including their badges and picture of the two on the first day they’d worked together. They both had serious expressions on their faces, but one could already tell that they would meld easily and work together like a well-oiled machine. He wasn’t sure who took the picture, but he supposed he was grateful they did it anyway. Laminated and placed across the top was the news headline from about a month before, praising the two on their victory against the Rozanov twins.

It was all very… sentimental, and he loved it.

He was busy admiring it when he heard a small huff of laughter and an, “about damn time” come from his partner.

There in Jensen’s hands, was a silver name plate, reading _M. Collins._

He carefully took it from Jensen and ran a thumb over the engraved letters.

“They sent the other one, too. ‘Burn it’ they said.” Jensen chuckled beside him.

Misha nodded and traced the letters one more time before setting it on the coffee table and turning to Jensen.

“You first.” He told him.

“No, you.”

“You.”

“Dammit, Mish.”

“Fine.” There was a pause in their squabble, then an idea came to him.

“We’ll do it together.” His hand was reaching behind him to dig in between the couch cushions as he said the words.

“Fair enough.” Jensen agreed, reaching underneath the couch to retrieve his. There was a soft thud as his knuckles bumped the springs under the couch, then he was quickly putting his hand behind his back again.

“On three.” He told him, pinching the lid on the box open behind him.

Jensen nodded.

“One… Two… Three!” They counted together then brought their hands around.

The little black box in both their hands contained rings.

“Marry me.” Those words, too, were said together, followed by giddy laughter, which turned into hysterics, which turned into kissing again.

After the residing giggles faded away, they exchanged boxes and examined what they’d be wearing for, hopefully, the rest of their lives.

Misha knew what Jensen’s looked like by heart. A bright silver tungsten band with green maple burl inlay to match his eyes.

Simple but exquisite, just like the man that would wear it.

He could hear himself audibly gasp at the sight of his own, though.

Much like Jensen’s, his own was gleaming silver tungsten, but with a black opal inlay instead. Instinctively, he knew that it would match his eyes as well.

They didn’t need long, gooey speeches, roses, lit candles, and the like, just a few chuckles and a bottle of wine.

“Yes.”

He took the green ring from Jensen and slid it on his finger, Jensen doing the same for him with the blue.

“I, uh, have one more thing to show you.” Jensen said quietly beside him.

If Misha didn’t know better, he might have said that his lover looked almost… apprehensive.

He watched quietly as Jensen stood and shed his shirt, and, for the second time that night, he audibly gasped.

Covering the once pristine and unmarked skin of Jensen’s right shoulder was a tattoo. A tattoo that consisted of an old pistol twisted up in various vines and roses. Written in blocky letters across the barrel were the words _Never Suffering Alone_ in Russian.

“It’s…” He trailed off for a moment, then caught the panicked look in his partner’s eyes.

Misha stood and ran a soothing hand over the ink, lightly tracing the words with the tip of his finger.

“Beautiful.”

He could feel the tension leave Jensen’s body at the word and the man visibly brightened.

“I didn’t want to take away from the meaning of yours, so I thought I’d get a companion piece instead. Is the Russian right?  I had to use Google Translate and you know how stupid that thing can be sometimes and-“

Misha cut him off with a kiss.

“It’s perfect.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more...
> 
> ~K


	22. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MAKE SURE TO RE-READ CHAPTER 21. I UPDATED IT WITH THE ACTUAL CHAPTER.
> 
> <3  
> ~K

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K  
> Beta: Rieraclaelin

Jared and Genevieve couldn’t have picked a more beautiful day to get married on. The fresh snow gave a sense of calm, even with the buzz of excitement electrifying the air around them.

Jensen would deny it to the day he died but he teared up a bit at the sight of his best friend overcome with so much emotion the moment he saw his bride. Gen looked stunning as ever in her white lace wedding gown, and every bit of a blushing bride as she made her way down the aisle.

He wouldn’t be able to deny the few tears that leaked when Jared, big-rock-solid-dependable-Jared, stuttered over the words in his vows, unable to keep the thick emotion from his voice.

The thing that topped it all had to be Misha, though.

Over the months leading up to the wedding, his nightmares came less frequently, he ate like he was supposed to, and he began to look much healthier. He smiled brighter, laughed louder, and was happy.

Gone was the haunted, dull look in his eyes and the dark bags under them.

Gone was the hollower parts of his face and body, having filled out more since Jensen made sure he ate.

Gone was Dmitri Tippens Krushnic, now replaced by Misha Collins-Ackles.

(Yeah, it was a bit of a mouthful, but neither of them took the time to care.)

Now, donned in a tailored charcoal grey suit and tie, Misha had a… glow about him. He was currently sitting at their assigned table, chin in his hands, watching everything, including Jensen, raptly.

Jensen found himself spinning the ring on his left hand as he made his way to the small raised stage where the band was preparing for the first dance. He was both nervous and excited to be the one singing for Jared and Gen’s dance, for more than one reason.

He’d been skeptical about singing when Jared had first asked him, but as soon as he was told the name of the song, he knew he could do it.

The smooth, melodic tone began to play behind him, and he found himself grinning at both the memory of said song as well as the grin that quickly spread over Misha’s face.

Tonight, he wasn’t just singing for the couple swaying on the dance floor, he was also serenading the love of his life with the song that had finally broken the barrier between them.

He grasped the microphone with one hand and let the words flow.

_“When an irresistible force such as you,_  
_Meets an old immovable object like me,_  
_You can bet just as sure as you live,_

_Something's gotta give,_  
_Something's gotta give,_  
_Something's gotta give._  
  
_When an irrepressible smile such as yours,_  
_Warms an old implacable heart such as mine,_  
_Don't say no, because I insist,_  
_Somewhere, somehow, someone's going to be kissed._  
  
_So, en garde, who knows what the fates might have in store,_  
_From their vast mysterious sky?_  
_I'll try hard ignoring those lips that I adore,_  
_But how long can anyone try?_  
  
_Fight, fight, fight, fight, fight it with all of our might._  
_Chances are some heavenly star-spangled night,_  
_We'll find out just as sure as we live,_  
_Something's gotta give,_  
_Something's gotta give,_  
_Something's gotta give._  
  
_Fight, fight, fight, it with all of your might._  
_Chances are that some heavenly star-spangled night,_  
_We'll find out just as sure as we live,_  
_Something's gotta give,_  
_Something's gotta give,_  
_Something's gotta give,_  
_Something's gotta give,_  
_Something's gotta give._

_There was a round of applause given as the song finished, but he paid no mind to it. Misha was up and taking long strides towards him, eyes glassy and slightly red with tears._

More clapping and a few cheers rang out when they met in the middle and Misha pressed his own personal applause to his lips.

 

~~~

They stumbled into Misha’s home a few hours later, the champagne they had finally fading off a bit.

Misha tugged him by the lapels of his suit jacket, smashing their lips together hungrily, and drug them up the stairs, his intentions more than crystal clear.

Instead of going in the door to the left when they reached the top of the stairs, he went right instead.

The Blank Room’s ever chilled temperature was enough to fully shake him to sobriety, and he stopped, giving his lover a questioning look.

Misha caught on to his hesitation and gave him a small smile.

“This room is filled with nothing but horrible memories for me. I want to change that.”

He settled a hand over Jensen’s left cheek before continuing, “I want to make love to you in this room tonight, then tomorrow we’re going to go pick out a color for it, new flooring, and furniture.”

“After tonight, I want this to be the kid’s room. I want to completely put my old life behind me and start a new one.”

The floor may have been cold underneath them, but that didn’t stop them from going forward with Misha’s plan.

Their lives truly began in the quiet afterglow.

“I’m thinking light blue.”

* * *

 

Always a man of punctuality, Lieutenant Collins strolled through the doors of the L.A precinct at 7:15am on the dot.

Only this time, he didn't have to prepare for Adonis, he was right there with him, holding his hand. They both waved at the few people who were there along the way, heads filled with visions of their fresh life together.

The new silver name plate sat on the corner of his desk, rightfully reading M. Collins.

He batted Jensen's hand away when he made a grab for it, tsking at him.

He was shrugging out of his jacket when his partner barked out a laugh. He glanced up at twinkling green eyes, and was immediately taken back to that morning all that time ago.

“We match."

He looked down in fond amusement.

They did indeed. 

"No prom for us." He said with a grin. 

Jensen crossed the space between them and gave him a soft kiss, then whispered in his ear, "I still look better in it than you do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last, it's over. Our boys are happy and everything is all rainbows and sunshine.  
> I want to thank the always amazing rieraclaelin for being my beta and personal cheerleader when I thought that I would never be able to finish this fic.  
> I also want to thank all of you who have stuck with this fic and even the new readers just now coming to the close of this wild ride. Your lovely comments and unfaltering support astound me and I hope to see you all on other works of mine.  
> Lots of love and kisses!  
> <3  
> ~K


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